


On Their Turf.

by QuintessentialQuill



Series: Tempered Grace [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Consequences, Corporal Punishment, Dark Past, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff, Forced to Watch, Forced to hurt, Gen, Guilt, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Imprisonment, Non-Consensual, Revenge, Torture, Whipping, Whump, captured by the enemy, dub-con, sadistic games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24169372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuintessentialQuill/pseuds/QuintessentialQuill
Summary: Jared and Akira realise that they're pawns on a much bigger chessboard. Captured by the enemy, Jared suffers the wrath of the victims of his past. Akira comes to grips with the objective value of her life. While the two of them and the people around them, all suffer the consequences of their choices that were made willingly and unwillingly.Relationships are forged, re-forged and cruelly tested to their limits.
Series: Tempered Grace [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743088
Kudos: 2
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	1. Friendly fire.

Jared and Akira stayed nestled against one another for longer than they should have. It wasn’t just water that rolled down her cheeks.  
Tears pooled in his eyes too.  
He squeezed her closer and she was grateful for it. For the warmth… For the release.  
Akira’s sobs faded to soft sniffles and then stopped. Her ragged breathing found a semblance of a rhythm again.  
He could feel the thrum of her heart through her soaking shirt, it gave him some measure of peace, to witness as the pace of the beat slowed. But a dread filled him as she relaxed.

They knew this moment was going to come to an end.  
There were so many things they wanted to say to one another.  
They didn’t.

Akira peeled herself off him, eventually, once her mental faculties were somewhat repaired and she could no longer ignore that she was still his prisoner. She wiped her face with the soppy sleeve of her shirt, carefully avoiding the small bruise and cut from their skirmish before. She choked back the sniffles. Physically, she still felt drained and weak. So, she resorted to crawling away. The floor was littered with small pools of water, her jeans wiped some of it as she dragged herself away from him.  
She didn’t get too far; they were separated by the length of the table in front of them. The distance was symbolic.

He understood what her gesture meant, better than he wanted to. The moment had passed.  
He felt an Akira-shaped darker splotch against his clothes. The light wasn’t enough to discern it visibly, but he could still feel it. The draft of air against it was a cold reminder of her absence.  
But, with time, it’d dry out…

That’s what he had assumed would happen when she abandoned her task and was labelled a traitor. He thought his love would evaporate... Had evaporated. And yet, he could not bring himself to turn her over without closure. This closure wasn’t coming by easy.  
Jared wanted to reach out and pull her back, but the moment had passed and they both resumed their parts.  
He turned to look at her, she did not.  
She had her head buried between her knees; arms wrapped around herself, trying to replace his body’s warmth, so she could stop herself from shaking, grit her teeth to make sure they did not clatter.  
Her uneven breathing was still evidence. Despite her best efforts, her sigh was a stuttering exhale.

“I’ll get you something to change into…”  
He stated. She wished she could have asked him to stay… Just for a little while longer.  
Her hands searched and found the buttons of her shirt, it hung against her frame, slowly she began peeling it off. When he got back and walked in, even the soft light illuminated too much. He averted his gaze and swiftly walked back out.  
“Sorry…”  
He called out.  
She was almost puzzled and replied with a bitter callousness.  
“What? It’s nothing you… and so many others haven’t already seen.”

There it was, the dark past she had now acquired, lurking in the simplicity of her words and evident in a very precisely created ladder of scars that ran down her ribcage. He had caught just a glimpse and it he was reminded of the darkness she had chosen.  
She took them and dropped her clothes onto the chair, the sodden fabric fell with a heavy, comical plop.  
He shoved his hand through a crack in the door, stubbornly. He was holding a towel and a fresh shirt.

His towel. His shirt.  
She dried herself quickly. A long time ago, a conversation with Nova had taught her that it was universal to like the clothes of someone you loved. She also learned that she was not an exception.  
Wearing his shirt felt like wearing a new skin. It objectively felt better too.  
“You can come in now…”  
She rolled her eyes at having to offer permission like this. But the act of chivalry and the warmth of fresh clothes, left her feeling better.  
Her jeans needed to dry out, but his shirt was long enough.  
He peeked before slinking in and closed the door behind them.  
The silence felt as thick as the darkness that doused them.

He cleared his throat before asking his question.  
“You… said Ezekiel… what about him?”  
It felt uncomfortable, like the name itself was tainted. His face went a little ashen.  
She could not see him well enough. The way he repeated the name was enough for her to decipher how he felt. She sought to lift lighten the heaviness settling on them like soaked blankets.  
“Depends on who is asking, SpecSyn agent, or my Red Knight…”  
Jared didn’t miss the possessive pronoun, despite it being buried in a raspy mutter, but it only made his voice constrict some more as he put effort into keeping it even. How much did she know?  
“Does it matter that much? Why are you so keen on keeping things from SpecSyn?”  
She shook her head but did not have the strength to argue with him about it now. Not without re-opening so many wounds…

She was not sure if she would ever get to talk to Jared about what she knew of his past. If nothing else than to just verify that some of it was merely a twisted fable.  
“Why? Why would you… they, send Nova after me?” she asked, smoothening her slick strands, they clung to her forehead and neck.  
He spoke and found himself mimicking her.  
“You rubbed off on her more than you realise, Shira… SpecSyn didn’t sanction her request to follow you. So, she just took matters into her own hands, we have not heard from her since.”  
She looked away and he reached for a cigarette.  
“She’s w-”

Somewhere a window was shattered, and it interrupted her answer.  
The sound was far enough to buy them some time—maybe just a few minutes.  
Yet, it was close enough to create panic.  
“Cavalry is busting in already, huh? How off the books is th-”  
She tried to be cavalier.  
He pressed his hand against her mouth with an urgency. He was glaring again. She was the cornered one, but he looked more like the animal.  
“Was this a fucking set-up, Akira?”  
The frantic menace in his question sent a stab of fear through her.  
She shook her head against the grip of his palm, violently. They’d just been getting somewhere…  
Akira reflected the panic she saw, and her heart sank with a dark realisation.  
She wasn’t looking forward to eventually being hauled off by SpecSyn, but she’d assumed that to be her new reality. Akira was so convinced of it, she never considered the outcome that she dreaded more.

Something had just kicked down a door. Too close for comfort and then another… and another. Getting steadily closer.  
Jared flipped her around and held her against him in a firm grip. The other arm snaked around her neck again, it tightened enough to make her uncomfortable and slightly red in the face.  
Their cell’s door was finally kicked down.  
“She’s one of yours, isn’t she?”  
Jared’s question also served as a declaration.  
A flash-light was shone in his eyes, it swivelled between his face and Akira’s. He lifted his hand to block the piercing rays, that sliced through the darkness and through their tenuously woven net of safety. Akira was reminded of the spotlight. She squinted and she struggled against the snare of his chokehold, for the second time today. She could not see the face behind the light, but she could see the barrel of a gun that sat under the torch. It was pointed first at Jared and then, just like the light… it was pointed at her.  
The safety clicked off.  
A heavy ascending beat, a frantic thrum played against her scarred rib cage, she closed her eyes.

“Her life is a lot less valuable when she’s in your shirt.”  
She recognized that voice. She would recognize it anywhere. It was Tariq. Jared probably recognized him too, albeit in a delayed manner.  
Jared made a small motion. Tightening his grip, but his trump card was feeling like a bust.  
Tariq was not close enough for Jared to attempt grappling with him, but the intent slipped into his movement nonetheless, it prompted a threat.  
“Don’t even think about it, Knight, my bullet will still move faster than you.”  
Tariq growled; his voice carried the weight of some choice that he was making.  
She couldn’t turn to look at Jared, nor could she meet Tariq’s eyes.  
“Tariq… This is not wha-”  
She whispered softly.

Jared was glad that the light wasn’t on him, because he couldn’t digest watching Akira explain herself to this other man with a straight face.  
To Tariq, she reeked of guilt and fear.  
She wished she could tell them both, that nothing was what looked like. She simply addressed Tariq because he was the one with the gun.  
“DON’T MOVE AND SHUT THE FUCK UP.”  
It felt odd to use such a tone with her. Tariq had been her friend, her comrade and, just… hers.  
More of the Q.B. gang were sneaking up to the scene. Tariq was the lucky man who’d caught the fish… or rather fishes in the act. They were all eager to get a peek at the action.  
Jared and Akira were resigned to silence.  
“Scout the place for backup!”  
Tariq’s voice was grating as he directed his men away. He wasn’t usually this short or demanding with them.

He flipped the torch in his hand avoiding the glare of the light. It doubled as a pocketknife. In a fluid motion, he flicked it open and lunged towards Akira. He slashed at her torso, shredding through the shirt. It left a series of small angry gashes that lined up like stitches, they ran from her right hip to her left shoulder.  
She was shocked at the assault against her. She expected to be shot, she had even considered asking Tariq for that goddamn bullet. But she could not have expected the blade.  
That gesture was unexpected enough to surprise Jared too, which was rare. He should have struck the moment Tariq ducked into range…

Tariq had already finished his slicing motion, before he earned an elbow to his nose.  
Akira felt the warmth of the oozing blood, it trickled, first down her leg from the starting point on her hip, then down her side from the point where the slice ended in a deeper jab under her shoulder. Next came the chill as the ill-formed gash was exposed to the air… A sharp and burning sting followed. She didn’t recognize the mangled hiss that left her lips. It was made by the air she drew, through her grit teeth, unevenly.

The men struggled and wrestled in a way that made them look like they were handling porcelain vases.  
Despite their best efforts, their caution wasn’t enough.  
 _Bang._  
Before Akira could come to terms with the sting of the gash, the gun went off.  
Three pairs of anxious, wide eyes searched for the victim.  
She looked at Jared, then at Tariq... and she understood.  
 _Fuck._  
Everything had happened so quickly.  
Something rattled in her like a wave of an earthquake, the epicentre was the bullet lodged into the flesh of her thigh. It was hot - the sear of the metal in the wound it made. She opened her mouth, but no sound left it. It got worse. Her hand reached for the source of the pain with a distant fascination, to confirm that she indeed, was the receptacle for this bullet.  
She was.

Tariq stammered somewhere in her vicinity. A very soft and very broken apology?  
She could not be sure.  
In the recesses of her mind, she found herself wishing she were wearing her jeans, just so the dark fibre could soak up the blood that her fingers had absently collected.  
She felt oddly rejuvenated. Everything was crystal clear. She was acutely aware that she was injured. Despite the intensity of the pain, it had a blurred, vague quality to it. Like… it should have felt worse. But did not yet.  
She teetered on just one foot. Something tugged at her shirt… At Jared’s shirt on her… with an urgency that made her lose balance. Hands reached out to catch her.  
Tariq believed he had pulled off the shirt just as eyeballs peered through the doorway, they watched rivetted in sharp contrast with the disinterest that she scanned them.  
“Isn’t that… Kira? Did she get shot?”  
“Fuck that! Isn’t that Jared Knight?”  
The name made her search for his face. It blurred in and out of view, but not once did he look at her.

Tariq could not afford to lose control right now. He needed to guide his men and he was the only thing standing between them and Akira’s truth.  
“Alright lads and ladies… We have acquired our target. Time to report back.”  
Tariq’s voice was so assertive, yet there was reluctance and delay.  
More than one person was probably recording this spectacle, using their SmartEye contacts.  
There was no way any of these recruits, did not want to flaunt being on the team that hauled in the famous Red Knight.

Jared let things happen around him.  
He did not fight; he did not speak. He did not respond to the muttered taunts, to the rumours. He did not confirm or deny anything.  
“Carry her.”  
Tariq barked the order at Jared and shoved the gun against the small of the SpecSyn agent’s back.  
Jared did not need to be told twice. He scooped her into his arms, like a bride… A very blood bride.  
The gunshot wound, much like the series of gashes, spilled blood. The gush of crimson was exacerbated by motion, it settled to a seeping trickle. It was reasonable to assume the major vessels had been spared. He tried his best to keep her still, nonetheless.  
Tariq pressed the shirt he had ripped off Akira, into the wound like a rag as he walked by Jared’s side.  
“She’ll make it, she’ll be fine.”  
The Q.B. emissary said. While the two men looked like they would rip each other apart, given the chance… They both sought solace in the promise of those words.


	2. Bonded by blood

The only reason no one physically prodded Jared to hurry through the corridors, was because Tariq did not set that precedence.   
His men took his cues from him. He seemed to have this leader role down pat.   
Tariq’s voice kept booming and echoing in the dimly lit passages. He rephrased and reiterated threats that involved Jared dead, if he so much so as stumbled with Akira.   
This felt strange in that moment. But in retrospect Jared would understand why.   
For the time being, all he could gather was that, apparently, both he and Tariq wanted Akira stable.   
The barrel of the gun pressed against him with an aggressive keenness, but ever so often, it wobbled. Jared did not pay much mind to it.   
  
Tariq had steady hands, usually. They were failing him today.   
It was imperative for him to keep up pretences, to act like Akira was still one of them despite what he had witnessed. Everyone around him had to believe she was held against her will, if she were to live… in fact, that ruse was necessary simply for her survival.   
Q.B. did not treat traitors kindly.   
He was hurting, he even gave way to feeling hateful… but Tariq did not want his childhood friend dead.   
~~~  
He remembered the day the day blood and loss deepened their friendship.   
Tariq was fifteen, streaking through the streets screaming about the men with batons and guns.   
He was covered in the blood of his father and his older brother. They had fought a futile battle. And lost.   
  
“They’re here. They’re rounding up the children below seventeen. They want the kids! They want the kids!”  
Tariq had held Zameer—his elder brother—kneeling on the ground as he bled out.   
“Go… You’re right. There is no winning… like this…”  
Zameer’s reassuring hand slipped off Tariq’s face. It left four scarlet lines in its wake.   
Tariq pressed his bloody palm over the glassy, peaceful eyes, closing them gently.   
  
Tear marked, pallid faces swarmed in and out of view as he continued yelling and ran. His throat was parched, his voice was soon a croak. He was not sure what he was trying to accomplish. This was not a warning. There was nowhere to run and hide anymore. He hoped families could steal moments together before they were torn apart.   
  
He noticed a woman cling onto her daughter’s shoulders, but before he could place the face, the girl pried herself away and turned to reassure the mother. There was too much dust and smoke in the air for him to recognize the woman either. Tariq stopped to watch the figures from a distance, something about the moment had him enraptured.  
  
He could not hear them. The girl’s stiff upper lip faltered, the mother wept and then they bid each other a silent farewell. There was a defiant optimism on their faces.   
Then he saw her.   
The one he quarrelled with after every football match… and shared lunch with every day.   
“Are you okay?”  
Her voice was strained but she reached out with an urgency.   
_She is going to pity me. Akira, is going to pity me._  
  
In a way, the two fifteen-year-olds were already slaves to the system. They had forsaken their values to attend the school that was funded by The Supremacy. They had played their small part in letting the organization sink its teeth into their country. It was the best education one could get; that had not been an empty promise. The loss of their freedom had always felt like an inevitability.   
Tariq had insisted on it, despite the protests from his father.   
Tariq did not want to give up his perfect education. His father had given up his life – unnecessarily. The boy mourned, but he was even more steadfast in his belief. Zameer had fallen prey to false ideals; he would not.   
  
“I’m… fine.”  
She eyed him uncertainly.   
He did not seem injured. His clothes were intact, but bloodstained. His flesh was marred with dirt, but apart from scrapes and bruises, was unblemished.   
From kids who fought over the who had already spent more time on the swing set, to solving math problems under the lemon tree, to this.   
“Tariq…”   
He finally felt compelled to explain the crimson that painted him. There was no way he could have hidden it.   
“My father...”  
Her eyes welled up, but she didn’t let the tears fall yet. She clasped onto his shoulder.   
“… And brother…”  
He choked out, his head shaking grew more violent, like he was denying the truth of their death, while simultaneously denying their continued existence.   
  
Everyone knew the Meissas—Altair, Zameer and Tariq. They always fought like they had nothing to lose… Except each other. Akira’s mother attributed it to the death of Jheel, Altair’s wife. Akira did not really care what drove them. They were a painful reminder that there were people actively struggling against the unfair norms, while all she could offer was her support _in spirit_.   
At no personal cost or risk…The real pity was that Altair and Zameer’s death may be in vain. Their legacy would not worm its way through the struggles that were going to inevitably follow this overthrow. Radical changes marched on the back of the men carrying guns and batons, waiting to be implemented.   
  
She pulled him into a grief-stricken hug. He stooped low to set his forehead against her bony shoulder. He stood against her, his hands hanging limply to his side.   
Tariq had no one left. There was no one around for them to wear their brave faces.  
As her hand patted his back, he finally held her too.   
And they both cried.  
That was the last time he had let himself cry from grief.  
The two remained locked in that embrace while chaos ensued around them, in the pursuit of order.   
Nestled in the arms of his best friend, he made a promise to right things.   
And he found his chance to do so much later…   
  
~~~   
  
She was even tinier then than she was now… but not by much.  
He was acutely aware of the fact that gun-shot wounds often deteriorated and could present with dangerous, life-threatening complications.   
It felt odd to have her blood stain his clothes today. It did not feel right.   
But he could not let the truth of the past taint the hope for the future.   
_She’ll be fine._  
It felt worse that he could not allow himself to dwell on anything.   
He was the leader of the squad.   
  
The exit of the building opened into a large driveway. A large armoured vehicle pulled up in front of the group. Someone picked Akira off Jared’s arms. He had to fight the instinct to cling to her. Since that would not serve either of them well. The lesser he associated with her, the better it was for her.   
The moment his hands were free, they were pulled back and shock-cuffs secured his wrists. He barely even noticed.   
  
She was torn from his grip, but not from his sights, not until she was hoisted onto the floor of the vehicle and then dragged deeper in. Q.B. agents pooled in after her and took their places. She lay on the floor between the two rows of seats. Jared craned his neck, to catch a glimpse of any parts of Akira, as she lay on the floor and people shuffled around her.   
A woman about Akira’s age crouched beside her, applying pressure against the wound with some gauze. Her hair was dyed a gentle shade of bubble-gum pink.   
  
Tariq threw the blood-soaked rag that was once Jared’s shirt onto the floor, by the cuffed man’s feet. He then crouched and lifted the hem of Jared’s pants, clicking a pair of shock-cuffs to his ankles too. Akira had left a crimson trail everywhere; spattered droplets lead to the bus.  
  
A thick chain linked the paired cuffs.   
Jared could see the limp x made by the chains behind him, in the long shadow cast by the streetlight overhead. A cry of anguish pierced the night air and it plunged everyone into silence. It was issued by Akira.   
“Get on the damn bus. The longer we take, the longer it takes for Akira to get help.”  
Tariq hissed, just for Jared’s ears this time as he fastened the last piece of his Jared’s new ornaments—The shock collar.   
Once again, Jared did not need the prompt. He was already walking towards the doors as fast as the chains would allow. Tariq sat next to Jared.   
  
“Is that a biohacker?”  
Jared asked, his voice betrayed concern of a desperate variety. Tariq was not heartless enough to ignore it. He just did not have the most reassuring answer.   
“No, that’s our sniper and engineer. Vivianne.”  
Tariq averted his gaze and looked past Jared, who visibly tensed in his seat.   
He trained his gaze at nothing, through the grilled window.   
The vehicle roared to a start and then began its swift rumbling journey towards the Q.B. headquarters. 


	3. Debridement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TW: Gory implications. Potentially hilarious medical inaccuracy. (I’m playing around with my creative license a lot, I have not paid heed to the ramifications).  
> The world is set a little in the future, so I hope the lee-way is acceptable.  
> Additionally, Vivianne presents with a constellation of personality traits and identity-defining choices/compulsions that are unique to her and this futuristic world. (Attributed to her past and involves experiments with sci-fi drugs)  
> She does NOT represent any known disorders or conditions]

Vivianne, or rather just Anne in this very moment, sat on the floor of the bus with Akira’s head between her knees. Their eyes locked and she pouted at the victim.  
She traced the series of gashes strewn across Akira’s torso, then finger-walked down Akira’s bare midriff and towards her thigh. Leaving a safe radius of about three inches, she circled the gunshot wound.  
  
“Aww… Itty bitty Kira has some boo-boos.”  
She relished that she had an audience and made a slashing motion in the air, with an open disinfectant bottle. It splattered over Akira’s wounds  
It felt cool at first and then stung, each wound throbbed under the liberal administrations.  
Akira hissed through her teeth softly and gasped louder when the liquid splashed against the bullet wound. Her hands curled into tight fists.  
“Cut it out, Anna.”  
Tariq warned.  
“OK!”  
Anna responded with a veritable, child-like joy and flourished her scalpel.  
Akira whimpered in protest. Anna could feel her head trying to shake. It drew out a gurgling titter. Her knees locked on tighter, a vice-like grip kept Akira’s crown immobile. Akira did not fight it and stilled.  
  
It was dark outside… Late evening or night. Her pupils were dilated and the dim lights on the ceiling of the bus hurt her eyes, so she closed them.  
Jared struggled against the cuffs on instinct and it cut his wrist. For once he was glad of Tariq’s existence as the darker man protested in his stead.  
“NO!”  
Tariq exclaimed, he leaned outward into the isle and he held out his hands for good measure, but Vivianna was too far in the front. His gestures only served to gain her attention… hopefully.  
“Listen, Anna, this is serious. Ok?”  
He knew she was an incredibly smart woman, but she truly was way too excitable when it came to the prospect of flesh and blades. It is why she had to drop out of the BioHacker program. It was less about being a biohacker for her and more about simply hacking.  
  
Anna made a finger puppet, it yapped and mocked Tariq.  
“What’s wrong T? Are you sad your precious Kira is hurt?”  
Tariq pursed his lips together.  
_I am hurt over a lot of fucking things._  
“Get in touch with Alcyone.”  
He spoke more like Tariq the commander and less like T her friend this time.  
Her pout grew like a blossoming rosebud and she rolled her eyes, then activated her SmartEye communicator. She placed a small cube on the floor, from it, Alcyone’s hologram emerged. Tariq held up his hand and the only thing he couldn’t silence was the bus itself.  
“What is it, Vivi? Or is it Anna? I’m busy, either way.”  
The hologram waved it’s slender fingers.  
“Oh… What are you working on?”  
Vivianne asked, slightly sheepishly. She always settled down around Alcyone, like she was in a trance induced by pure reverence. Her thick accent returned, and her baby-talk vanished.  
“I’m running tests. Novara has yet another _novel_ solution to- You didn’t seriously reach me for idle chatter, did you?”  
Alcyone’s tone went from amused to threatening within the span of her response.   
  
Jared rattled in his chain at the mention of Nova.  
Instantly, a surge of electricity ran through his limbs and body. He stiffened. The shock-collar ensured any words and sounds died in his throat.   
“Do. Not. Speak.”  
Tariq hissed and let up on the button that sent electricity surging through Jared.  
Jared sagged and resigned himself to silence. Trying to contact Nova would serve no purpose right now, either way. It’d merely serve as a distraction and delay things.  
Nonetheless, his attention was trained keenly on the conversation that ensued.  
“Er… No. Kira has a GSW to her thigh, some blood loss, but she’s conscious and responsive, aren’t you, Kira?”  
Anne pressed the butt of the scalpel into the gash under her shoulder.   
Akira bit her tongue to interrupt the wail that left her lips.  
“Good. Responsive is… good. Scan her.”  
Anne picked the cube up and with some gestures, it beeped to life. A plane of lasers scanned Akira’s leg.  
  
“Hmm. Cut it out.”  
Alcyone assessed something and culminated it with that instruction, coolly.  
They meant it the way Vivianne wished it to be.  
“A-are you sure?”  
Nova interjected, ever so meekly, from somewhere behind Alcyone.  
“Novara… What purpose does doubt serve? None. Don’t give me a reason to express my displeasure to Eze.”  
The only one Alcyone referred to by a nickname, was Ezekiel.  
  
Jared bit his lip, till he tasted blood. He swallowed the bile that crawled upwards inside him.  
Tears rolled down Akira’s side and trickled into her hairline.  
There were no more protests, from anyone.  
Alcyone took the silence to be their cue to continue, they cleared their throat.  
“I’d recommend a quick pit-stop. You have your scalpel and gloves yes?”  
Vivianne nodded enthusiastically. She had just received her best gift. Freshly minted surgical gloves were elegantly plucked out of their wrappers, getting more respect than they deserved. She snapped them on with a professional efficiency.  
This surprised no one, except Jared. Everyone knew that Vivianne had never quite given up on her obsession to be a surgeon and that she walked around prepared, for an eventuality exactly like the one in front of her now.  
Tariq hollered at the driver to pull over.   
  
Alcyone went on, fascinated by relaying the process and puppeteering someone as eager, uninhibited and inexperienced as Vivianne.   
Something about the way they approached this, made it obvious that they cared little about the outcome. But no one dared to question their reasoning, it was assumed that it was the best course of action.  
“Akira will have to keep very still. She’ll need to be held down.”  
Tariq tilted his chin at one of his underlings.  
“Grab her hands.”   
He got up to hold Kira’s legs.  
“Ready?”  
Alcyone asked, with a quiet excitement.  
“Ready.”  
Vivianne responded, with a lusty undertone.  
“X incision.”  
Vivianne had trained for a year and a half before dropping out, so she understood the lingo and she had _some_ training.  
The sniper pressed the scalpel to where her teasing finger had been moments ago and made an unwavering deep slice.  
  
Akira breathed deeply, wincing as she was cut, but she could not help letting out an infernal howl as the sharp instrument neared the entry point of the bullet.  
Tariq was surprised at the strength with which she bucked, but he managed to keep her still. It just took more effort than he had anticipated.   
“Give her something to bite down on.”  
Alcyone recommended, to make things more convenient no doubt. They spoke of Akira, not to her, even though the patient, was conscious.  
Some eager beaver collected the loop of seat belt extenders and passed it on to Vivi. She folded it up into neat little halves and coiled it, till it had enough thickness.  
She pressed her slightly bloodied fingers into Akira’s mouth, tenderly. Like giving a pacifier to a baby.   
“There, there.”  
Akira was sweating, and she was frantic, but still lucid enough to know Vivianna, though questionably eager and happy about this venture, was helping. She opened her maw and accepted the make-shift bit.  
  
Anne was quick to complete her first incision across the wound. Aki screamed and was well muffled. The recruit that offered the belt-extension looked mighty pleased with himself. Unfortunately, there were too many other interesting things happening for him to earn any validation for his quick thinking.  
Anne approached the wound a second time. This time the slice incision steadily closed in on, not just the bullet wound, but fresh incision she’d made under a minute ago. Aki screeched and passed out.  
“Ah, better this way, I s’pose.”  
Alcyone remarked and went on, she made it sound so simple.   
“Get your finger in there, widen the surface of the wound a little and… coax out the bullet.”  
There was pin drop silence.  
  
Everyone collectively winced at the squelchy sound, as fingers invaded flesh. It was not too deep in.  
The finger popped out and then a clink followed as the bullet spouted out and rolled off Aki’s limb onto the floor of the bus. A gentle fountain of crimson flowed and quickly ebbed.  
Everyone collectively exhaled. Someone threw up. Life crept back into the bus.  
“Looks like Akira got shot and still dodged a bullet. OK. You can’t close up there, so compress the wound and hope that she doesn’t flood the bus with her blood by the time you all get here.”  
Alcyone resorted to dark humour, left them clinging to hope uncertainly and disconnected.  
The hologram fizzled out.  
  
Vivianne realised that she had surprisingly steady hands. Perhaps it wasn’t that surprising, she did need them to snipe too.  
She felt absolutely elated. Deliriously, she wiped the scalpel on Akira’s arm to get rid of the extra blood. Then, wordlessly, she got up and slunk to the very front of the bus. She sat down and pulled her feet up onto the seat. Her tongue flicked against the blunt edge of the scalpel as she closed her eyes and ruminated.  
Tariq took care of disinfecting and compressing the wound with the pads of gauze.  
Very hesitantly, he allowed himself some hope. He drew a long breath and smiled as he addressed his squad.  
“Ok! This is officially mission accomplished. With zero casualties.”  
“Yet…” Someone muttered and few of them snickered.  
Akira was certainly not loved by them all.  
Tariq would’ve responded with force at the sickening quality of that dark humour, or whatever it was. But his energy reserves were running low.  
“Well done, lads and ladies.”  
He added. Whoever had made that annoying comment, wasn’t wrong. Akira was not out of danger.  
He watched the gauze steadily turn a darker shade of crimson. He replaced it and compressed with more force... and then again. _  
Almost there._


	4. For Quantum Brigade.

Akira did not flood the bus with blood. The cube was used to check her vitals periodically. She remained stable and unconscious.   
When they finally pulled up to a rather unassuming looking compound of grey buildings, she was the first one out, followed by Vivianne. Or Vivi, now.   
“Anna did what? Oh wow, I didn’t think she had it in her!”   
Vivi spoke of her own skills in third person, she displayed reluctant admiration for Anne. Everyone was used to this too. They had always assumed it was some sort of an experiment gone wrong, that made Vivianne… Vivi and Anne. Anne preferred being called Anna. People obliged either out of respect or simply because they did not want to mess with a scalpel-wielding-blood-licking-sniper.   
Either way, Vivi gushed on about the scene as someone described Anne’s brilliance to her, following along the stretcher that Akira was being hauled off on. 

Tariq grabbed Jared by his arm. Jared shrugged it off and got up on his own. He took small steps towards the door of the bus at gun point.   
A cursory glance past the open swivelling doors at the back of the bus was oppressive enough to make him realise he was as good as dead.   
Having witnessed the callous nature of Q.B. with regards to suffering and even the lives of their own alleged agents, Jared didn’t see a reason to hold his tongue anymore. Akira was not in his vicinity. He could do nothing to help either her, or Nova, or anyone else… The antagonistic feelings mingled with a feral self-loathing. And it all found an outlet.  
Dead would probably be better.   
He teetered near the edge of the vehicle’s floor, pausing, he looked over his shoulder at Tariq.   
“Why carry a fucking gun if you don’t fucking know how to use it?”  
Jared really was not the kind who swore this much. He needed an idiot-proof way to get his taunt across.

Tariq used the butt of the gun to land a blow across Jared’s temple, catching the side of his head and his lightly cut up cheek. He placed the barrel against the back of his head.   
Similarly, for Tariq, now that his friend—his… Kira—was not in immediate danger, and he believed she would be taken care of, he felt his rage resurface. He was not ready to bear the brunt of the blame for Akira’s injury.  
The bash was hard enough to leave Jared feeling dizzy.   
“Do not fucking tempt me to kill you!”   
_That is the point._ Jared thought.   
Tariq’s voice was loud and venomous. He shoved against Jared violently. 

The chains were too short to allow the lightly concussed man to keep his balance. He fell out of the bus. He angled himself so his left shoulder could break his fall. He was sprawled onto the floor with a soft grunt.   
The fall knocked the air out of Jared, but the pain wasn’t unmanageable; he’d had worse.   
Tariq leapt off with a certain flair and landed on his haunches behind Jared.   
He got up and dusted his hands. He beckoned his squad off the bus. They bustled about behind him, watching their leader eagerly.   
“Why do you have legs when you can’t use them?”   
It was juvenile and dumb, but Tariq was too wound to play with words.   
Jared chuckled bitterly at the poor retort and started rolling over, so he could get up.   
Tariq put his boot between Jared’s shoulder blades. He was not usually like this. He was kinder, he was fairer.   
The Q.B. agent let himself feel like a hero. He held out his arms, with his foot on the defeated Knight,   
“Look how far the Red Knight has fallen!”   
“Look how far you’ve sunk, Tar-iq.”   
Jared spat back, with great effort. 

The two of them had had a common enemy once. They had once been on the same side.  
They had fought the same war, but not the same battles. There was no real sense of camaraderie between them though. It was not going to form now.   
Tariq kicked him in the ribs. Something cracked.  
Jared winced and squirmed under him as he involuntary tried to curl, to protect his injured side. He lay with his cheek against the tar-laden driveway. The boot made the fabric of Jared’s shirt scrape against his back, leaving some raw friction burns. His chest met a similar fate against the road. 

Tariq let his foot drag down Jared’s spine, so it rested against the small of his back now. It gave him space to crouch with his knee pressed against the nape of his captive’s neck. He bent forward to speak words meant just for Jared.   
“Y’know, Red Knight, I really hate kicking a man when he’s down.”   
Tariq muttered through grit teeth. Something was conflicting within him. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Ezekiel had told him on multiple occasions, exactly what kind of a snake Jared Knight was. If had managed to fool someone like Nikolai, Akira was probably an easy target, he was probably playing her too. His fury had logical evidence… His heart was not entirely convinced.   
_He is probably fooling you too, he doesn't really care about Kira, he cares about no one._  
“Free me then, and we’ll brawl it out, or are you scared you’ll lose?”   
Jared wheezed softly, even though he didn’t really feel the need to. He should have saved his breath, maybe if he had not shown any eagerness to get out of his shackles, Tariq would have made the mistake of letting him.   
I am still outnumbered. 

Tariq was notorious for never turning down a fight. But he did today. And assuaged his ego by reasoning that Jared did not deserve the honour and glory of a fair fight.   
“No… I just… hate you more.”  
“Yeah? Why? Are you really doing this over a woman?”   
Most of his words were lost.  
But Tariq got the gist. He didn’t want to cheapen this moment by making it something so seemingly puerile.   
“You’re stupid if you think Kira belongs to you, or anyone. No, this is about so much more.”  
Jared actually felt schooled. Nothing that Tariq uttered had felt truer than this. He remained silent.   
Something was conflicting within Tariq; he clenched and unclenched his fists. He could not bring himself to unleash his fury on a helpless man.   
Just because I cannot doesn’t mean no one can. 

He had never used his status or leadership abilities for something so personal. He gave into his churlishness. From what Ezekiel had told him, there was enough hatred for the Red Knight among the Q.B. folk.   
He picked Jared up by the shock-collar.   
Jared croaked softly; the metal strangled him. He did his best to hoist himself up with some semblance of dignity. Mostly, he just scrambled to aid Tariq and prevent sustaining permanent damage to the structures in his throat.   
He left Jared kneeling besides him, facing the squad. 

“The heralded Knight. For what? All he really did was serve. He trampled on anyone in his way, including our predecessors. While they were busy fighting on the front lines, he was kneeling for Nikolai. He hurt, maimed, and killed so many of the Quantum Brigade.”   
Jared trained his eyes to the floor and tried to block out the words. His hands clenched into tight fists; his blunt nails managed to draw blood.   
He had always sought penance for his role. He had never really been able to weigh the numbers against one another in the end… All the pain he caused for the greater good. Perhaps this was it.

Jared got up and held his head high. He had done what he had to do, and if these were the consequences, he wanted to meet them with some honour. He expected resistance as he got to his feet, but Tariq did not make any moves, he spoke to just his captive again.   
“I hope you can show some spine and make this fun for my squad, Jared. You managed to get to your feet, let us see how long you stay on them.”   
Tariq plucked out his prod-baton and waved it in the air.  
“For Quantum Brigade and the blood we’ve shed. For the glory he stole, that belongs to us.”  
It was like his squad was in a trance. They all were flourishing their batons.   
Like a conductor, in a fluid, effortless motion, he struck Jared’s back. 

Jared flinched and lurched forward. His back arched and contorted as his protesting muscles contracted. It looked like he was performing a dance move poorly.   
“FOR QUANTUM BRIGADE.”  
The others charged at him.   
Jared was lost in a flurry of batons.   
They flew at him from every direction, nothing was spared.   
He remained standing and silent for longer than one would have expected.   
But soon, he was brought to his knees, and every new hit elicited resigned groans. He wheezed as he breathed and periodically spat out blood.   
Then he fell silent again and keeled to the ground.   
Battered. Bruised. Bloody. Broken.   
It felt like an effort to hang onto consciousness. 

Tariq had unleashed a monster and he regretted it. He turned away, to come face to face Ezekiel.   
“Ez-”  
 _Smack._  
The ring on the blonde’s finger left a gash in Tariq’s face which swivelled with the sheer force of the slap. Ezekiel held Tariq’s chin. Almost tenderly, he coaxed it towards him. Tariq jerked away.   
The blonde did not press matters. His thumb grazed the gash fondly and he clicked his tongue.   
“That is no way to treat our esteemed guest. And it is abuse of power.”   
Jared’s eyebrows shot up, it suddenly felt like it was worth the effort to hang onto his consciousness just a little longer. He felt a sense of vindication that he hated.   
In the end, we are both slaves to the Crovus brothers, then?   
Tariq rearranged his uniform and walked away.   
Ezekiel dusted his hands as he sidled up to Jared. The blonde peeled the man off the tar with his collar.   
“Someone take him to Alcyone before I strangle him.”  
Jared choked; bloodshot eyes rolled upwards. Ezekiel’s ruby irises were the last thing he saw, before surrendering to the darkness that had been knocking for a while now.   
Hands groped at him and he was lugged into the building.


	5. Cigarettes and Scalpels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Non/Dub-Con, NSFW, cigarettes and scalpels, psychological manipulation.  
> Vivianne (Vivi-Anne/a) presents with a constellation of personality traits and identity-defining choices/compulsions that are unique to her and this world. (Attributed to her past and involving experiments with sci-fi drugs)  
> She does NOT represent any disorders or conditions

The hospital bed was flush against a corner. Akira’s left leg—the one that was shot—was grateful for the extra support and protection the wall provided.  
About a foot above her shin, the windowsill began. It overlooked the driveway. Vivi had cracked it open, to allow the smoke that curled from her cigarette to escape… and perhaps to hear the processions below. She could not make out the words, but the wind carried sounds sometimes and Vivi was grateful. 

Aki had flexed her good leg to let Vivi find her perch. She’d been watching the processions with rapt fascination as she stitched.  
“It looks bad. I’ve never seen Tariq like this.”  
She ducked to finish the final knot.  
“All done! Gotta say, I didn’t think you’d be so still… Well done.”  
Vivi rested her hand on Akira’s good knee casually and patted.  
Akira had dipped in and out of consciousness as Alcyone guided a distracted Vivi to perform stitches.  
Akira’s bullet gouge was going to scar. The stitches were uneven. Some knots were too tight, others not tight enough.  
Anne—Anna, part of Vivianne was decidedly better at medical procedures. 

This archaic process of stitching wounds itself had been abandoned though. Technology and advancements in the field of biology had made so many alternatives readily available.  
Akira was nothing more than a fascinating test subject to be toyed with.  
Alcyone hummed as they walked by and idly squirted some of the shealing (sealing-healing) gel onto the surface in a miserly manner… Like an afterthought. They walked away briskly.  
“Oh boy. This is not looking good.”  
Vivi’s emphatic word contradicted the lascivious intrigue painted on her face.  
She spoke at Akira, speaking to her was not really an option, since she was still rather pain addled.

Akira’s breathing was uneven.  
She had received serum to aid with the wound healing process, but barely anything to help with her pain. This was a reminder, that on some level, she was considered disposable. She had not earned her right to comfort. She wondered if Alcyone and the others had just wanted her to die in the bus.  
_They must hate me for stubbornly living on then._  
If fate had given her a chance, maybe they decided to as well?  
The administration of the gel made things a little better. 

“He’s got Jared pinned under his boot.”  
Vivi twittered. She had folded her legs and was bobbing with excitement. It was no secret that Vivianne enjoyed her share of raw violence.  
Akira stirred and opened her eyes a crack at the mention of Jared.  
No one had bothered to dress Akira up again. She was in her solid black underclothes, with a flimsy sheet that Alcyone had thrown clumsily onto her, they were around but interrupted nothing.  
“Jared?”  
Akira wanted to know more, she tried to sit up.  
Vivi put her foot against Akira’s shoulder and pushed her back down. Aki had no strength to resist and fell back against her pillow.  
Vivi’s gaze hardened when she heard the way Akira inquired about the man.  
_The information Ezekiel shared may be accurate after all._  
Vivi wanted it not to be.

“You know… You must be in a lot of pain… I’m going to help…”  
Vivi took her promise seriously and worked on braiding her bubble-gum pink hair, it was blonde at the roots. Something about the scene outside kept drawing her away. So, as she fixed her sleek tresses, she peeked outside again.  
She winced.  
“I don’t like having only one leg to work with…”  
Vivi muttered absently as she made idle circles on Akira’s ankle, then began her slow ascent upwards, sliding her hand under the sheet, tracing patterns against the inner thigh.  
Akira stirred. She groaned and stilled again. Something was tickling her, it felt nice, but also uncomfortable. She flattened her leg against the bed and kicked Vivi gently in the process.  
Vivi grabbed Akira’s ankle. 

“Now see, that’s not very nice- Fuck.”  
She let something distract her again, something that was happening beneath them. She watched as Jared stood up to face the baton flourishing men.  
“Tariq is playing a dangerous game. I don’t think he should be making the call to mess Jared up...”  
Aki blinked her eyes open this time and licked her lips. Her thoughts came to her slow, they were scattered and bleary, but they were there. She connected the dots of what Vivi’s words.  
Mess him up? 

“Aww.”  
Vivi cooed as she noticed the flick of Akira’s tongue and assumed it to be a come-hither cue.  
Akira recognized that look on Vivi’s face, the one that emphasized her desire, and, in the moment, she decided to use it.  
“Pull me up… I want to feel closer to you.”  
Akira could be an excellent liar when she wanted and right now, she needed help so she could peek out of the window herself. Vivi looked around sheepishly, then readily obliged. Wedging herself between Akira’s legs, she hoisted her up and set her leaning against the window. She stole a soft kiss for her troubles.  
Akira did not pout. She did not lean into the kiss and did not return it.  
Vivi’s eyes narrowed as she pulled away, her fingers tenderly climbed the ladder of scars she had left against Akira’s ribs… The cuts she had willingly accepted.  
She did not accept the kiss like that today. Vivi was more perceptive than people gave her credit for. She could see that there was some attachment between Akira and Jared. The way her breath hitched ever so slightly with each blow he endured.

Akira hadn’t even realised that Vivi’s fingers were tugging at the waistband of her panties.  
Her mind was trained on what she had heard, and her heart was in her throat.  
Akira could now glimpse at the act through the corner of her eyes. It was more than enough, especially if supplemented with Vivi’s commentary.  
They’re going to kill him.  
She tried to hold her breath, it felt like the easiest way to steady it.  
Akira’s eyes were glassy, unfocused and clear, till she closed them again.

Vivi could see the tears that never fell. She shook her head and pulled her fingers off the elastic. She resorted to using her scalpel to make a dangerous slit in the fabric that covered Akira, instead.  
The cold metal teased the exposed flesh carefully, and fingers quickly replaced it.  
“You know endorphins and aphrodisiacs are natural analgesics.”  
Akira looked at her vacantly and her body stiffened.  
Vivi teased Akira’s folds with expertise. After all, this was not the first time they were doing this.  
“Controlled pain and fear with sex equals Painkiller. So… I’m just trying to help.”  
She took another puff of smoke and blew it against Akira. As she re-emerged from the plume and the smoke dissipated, Vivi searched the outline of the slender neck, for the faint scar of that cigarette burn.  
She pulled her fingers out and pulled the blanket off Akira. Vivi held the scalpel in one hand and the other held the cigarette. 

“You know, Nova told Eze some things about a certain man… and cigarettes… and you…”  
Akira didn’t respond.  
_So, this is theme of my life. Everyone knows everything, but me._  
Everyone around her, seemed to have it all figured out. And she was the last one to find out that her cover may be blown.  
“Now, you know I am very jealous when others mark you, right? I’ll forgive it, because it was before my time…”  
The scalpel rested against the old burn scar. Vivi made a soft cut into it. Marring the mark and the memory. She kissed the cut sloppily.  
They locked eyes and Akira glared, but she could not fight, not in this state.  
Vivi ran the handle of the scalpel against the slit in the solid black panties again, using the tool to widen the tear, the fabric split with an agonizingly slow ripping sound. 

“You had poor Tariq like a puppy on a leash… You had me too. You led us on, but you always wanted him, right?”  
She ran the glowing tip of the cigarette across Akira’s inner thigh.  
Akira’s lips trembled, she inhaled quietly and deeply. She held her breath again. She was not going to give Vivi the satisfaction of seeing any reactions.  
The scalpel warmed, nestled inside Akira. It certainly was not satisfying. It was not meant to be.  
Vivi pulled it out and pressed the sharp end into Akira’s cheekbone, forcing her to turn towards the window and watch, or sport a rather deep cut.  
Akira let the gash cry blood defiantly. Reluctantly she eventually turned. 

Jared had fallen to his knees again. Distant grunts were occasionally loud enough to be heard.  
Akira clenched her eyes shut. Her jaw was set. She shook, frustrated and angry.  
Vivi placed the scalpel against Akira’s crinkled eyelids.  
“Open your eyes, or I won’t hesitate to take your sight forever. No Tariq to save you this time, he is busy… you see. Well, you don’t, but you should.”  
Akira opened her eyes and instantly found them squinting towards the blade in front of them. She shuddered again. Vivi took another puff and ran it higher up Akira’s thigh and let the scalpel’s handle bury itself once more. Akira did respond to fear... Among other things. The steel tool collected the evidence. She held the glistening handle in front of Akira.  
Jared had fallen to the ground. 

“Can you tell me with certainty, what’s arousing you, Kira?”  
Another puff, another streak of the cigarette across her flesh. Much like Vivi’s climbing fingers, the cigarette certainly had a final destination.  
Just the idea made Akira want to throw up.  
They both noticed Ezekiel and his voice rang loud enough for them to know where Jared was headed, especially when he mentioned Alcyone. 

Vivi was contemplating something. She set the scalpel aside and continued her puffing and streaking, erratically now. Akira’s inner thigh sported a mesh of ash.  
“You’re not going to get to remember this as some valiant sufferer, Kira. You do not get to play hero.”  
She threw her arms around Akira and whispered softly in her ear.  
“No, I’m going to ruin you. When they haul Jared in here, you best wish he isn’t conscious…”  
Vivi was cruel when she wanted to be. And she truly was a sniper. She really knew which shot to take, to make this truly hurt.  
Unfortunately for Akira, Vivi also had a lot of experience with women.  
Now that Aki’s arousal had betrayed her. All Vivi had to do, was push her over the edge.  
Almost with clinical precision, Vivi’s fingers pinched and pulled, teased and taunted… fluttered and fucked. 

Akira tensed, she remained as still as a statue and hated the fact that not rolling her hips… took effort. As Vivi promised, when the men dragged Jared into the hospital wing, Akira was silently and unwillingly experiencing the throes of several small deaths. She absently recognized the bloody and bruised body that disappeared behind the partition. He was out cold. She did not like the flood of relief that washed over her, amidst other sensations. She collapsed against Vivi. Tears rolled down Aki’s cheek in thick rivulets. Vivi lapped at them and kissed Akira’s cheek. She pulled away and beamed up at Akira, as if nothing had happened and held the cigarette against the torn fabric till it charred. 

She let it teeter there for a bit, but Akira did not respond with fear anymore, she did not respond at all. A bored, Vivi pressed the stub into the crease of Akira’s thigh.  
“I’d say we’re even now.”  
Aki drew a ragged breath, the burn of hatred, felt so much worse than the final stab of the cigarette. Hatred, towards Vivi, towards Ezekiel… towards the whole world.  
But mostly, towards herself.

A few BioHackers streamed in to work on the unconscious man. Her eyes darted towards the shadows they made on the screen between her bed and Jared’s. Ezekiel walked in soon after.  
“Alcy, I need everybody fixed up soon. Use whatever you need to use. Do whatever you need to do. I’ll send Nova to help.”  
Alcyone didn’t acknowledge Ezekiel words as they busied themselves with Jared. The ruby-eyed man knew his request was heard and that was enough. Actions were following his words.  
A cursory glance around the room allowed the blonde to spot the girls.  
“Vivi… Anna. Kira.”  
He acknowledged politely. Before turning on his heel to leave.


	6. One way or another.

It was still dark outside, but the horizon wore that faint line of orange. At the break of dawn, on padded bare feet, Nova rushed to the hospital wing.  
She’d taken Ezekiel’s permission, of course, and it had been granted with a lot of reluctance and a demand for a blanket ‘IOU’.  
_As if that is not what my entire life is, now._  
It had not felt like a difficult choice when she made her promise to him. Much like all the other promises she had made to him. Her friends needed her, and she needed them too…  
Nova had not expected Akira or Jared to be awake when she made her way inside. She was wrong. 

Both of them were awake and neither of them heard her come in. She hadn’t made any visits since they’d reclaimed lucid consciousness, and despite the temptation, they’d remained resolutely reticent with each other ever since they had. So, along with the screen, a sticky silence stood between them.

Nova stood at the door and peeked over the screen, first at Jared. He was facing the window by his bedside, with his back to her and the screen. He was still covered in plasters and casts, but he was not staining the sheets with blood any more. He lay on his good side, the one which had been slightly less broken than the other. Given his recovery, this was more out of habit. His arms were folded over his chest, his hands covered in thick bandages, tubes weaved in and out the ones on his arms.  
Nova tiptoed closer. She peered over him and noticed that his eyes were shut. She assumed he was asleep. 

Unwilling to wake a sleeping patient, Nova rounded up to Akira.  
She was sitting up, folded over her good knee, her cheek rested against it. She watched the driveway wistfully, wincing periodically. The bottles behind her, were attached to tubes, but not to her. She had peeled off the serum diffusing patches again. They hung, detached and abandoned besides her. Nova noticed the bags and dark circles around her eyes. Akira’s face looked sharper and sallow. Her skin looked a little flush, and there was a thin sheen of sweat on it. She looked feverish. Nova sidled closer, reaching for Akira’s forehead with the back of her hand. 

“How are you feeling?”  
Nova spoke so softly, she sounded ghostly. It was a generic question and probably a stupid one.  
Akira was usually very percipient, but the sleep-deprivation, hunger and the general aches had left with dulled senses.  
Plus, Nova had grown steadily quieter.  
She didn’t turn to look at Nova, she didn’t reply either. It was only when Nova’s hand got close enough, Akira tried swatting it away. She was too slow. Nova clicked her tongue chidingly and managed to out manoeuvre Aki’s attempt with ease.  
Knuckles and fingers flattened against a slick forehead.  
Akira coiled up like a spring.  
“Do. Not. Touch. Me.”

Nova could hear Aki’s teeth grind and chatter ever so softly. She pulled away. While she recognized just how angry her friend sounded, Nova was dismissive of Akira’s threatening tone and wasn’t responding to it. She just wanted to get a precise measure with her MediScanner.  
Akira had always been very fond of Nova. But right now, all she could hear was Vivi’s words – There was only one person who could have let the details of Jared’s little stint with the cigarette slip… Nova. She just could not bring herself to accuse the fellow BioHacker. The CommCube beeped and buzzed.  
“102.9, damn it, Aki…”  
She began fussing over the patches, placing them back onto Aki’s arm. She noticed how Aki’s collarbone and wrist eminence were already a little more prominent than before.  
Akira didn’t have the strength to physically resist. She looked out of her window again.  
Once Nova had reapplied all the cutaneous patches, she checked that the diffusion was active, and the rates were correct. 

Nova remained latched onto Akira’s hand, gently. She was hoping to provide some comfort. Some support. Akira tried to wring her arm out of Nova’s grip, feebly and she could not.  
“I can’t believe I’m being able to hold you down, Aki… Me.”  
Nova marvelled at how weak Akira had allowed herself to get. She wondered if reiteratively reminding Akira of her weakness would get her to change her mind about this stupid hunger-strike and sleep-strike.  
Akira rolled her eyes.  
Nova let go and used her CommCube to command the kettle by the bedside to life. She then disappeared into the closest pantry, to fetch a pair of soup bowls. Akira peeled off all the patches again, the derma-needles scratched a little. Nova knew that Akira preferred savoury over sweet. Soup felt like the ideal comfort beverage. She had prepared the dehydrated concoction personally. Nova was a terrible cook, except with soup and mostly because she was the only one who had the patience to make the most wholesome stock, which could be used for sauces too, she just did not make any. 

This particular concoction was infused with compounds that could act as painkillers and further aided with healing—mental and physical. It was a bit of an experimental venture, but she was good with stuff like this and had iteratively tested the stuff on herself first. A silicone cap popped off a transparent bottle of tablets. Nova poured them onto her hand liberally and dropped them into the bowls evenly.

Akira gathered where this was going and pursed her lips, in anticipation of what the future held.  
This time, Akira was prepared. Nova set the bowl onto the porta-table and wheeled it across.  
The bowl was swiped off the table and onto the floor in a motion that was swifter than Nova had expected, given Aki’s state. Nova stepped out of the way soon enough to avoid getting soup on herself. The bowl fell and shattered; her composure cracked a little too. 

Nova rarely allowed herself to betray frustration like this.  
“Aki, why… are you being this way?!”  
Nova stooped to gingerly collect the pieces, she set them onto the bedside table, away from Akira’s reach. Akira took a deep breath and closed her eyes to calm herself. She was equally frustrated and shivering, not just from the fever, but from that palpable, all-consuming hatred. She did not waste her breath on a verbal response.  
Nova drew her own calming breath.  
“You have to eat.”  
Akira finally turned to pin her with a dark gaze.  
“I do NOT have to do anything.”  
“Why are you crippling yourself like this? You’re doing so well… but you gotta help your body, Aki.”  
Akira narrowed her eyes and shrugged with a defiant nonchalance.  
Nova pulled her platinum strands into a bun and sighed. Her hands found her hips and rested there with a weariness. 

“Aki… One way or another, I’m feeding you.”  
Dark curls were plastered against her face. She had started sweating a little more profusely. Her breaths got a little shallower too as she realised what Nova was implying. She felt an odd constriction in her chest. The entire constellation of exacerbations felt unfamiliar. There was panic involved. Maybe it was just the sickness.  
“Y-you’re actually going to feed me against my will?”  
Incredulity and desperation walked hand in hand as the words fell out of Akira’s lips in a sharp whisper. Nova stared Akira down squarely. It was her turn to shrug.  
Akira swallowed.  
Nova set the other bowl onto the table and slowly slid it towards Akira, dangling the reasonable alternative to her threat. Akira swiped the bowl of the table yet again, with more violence this time. An act that showed far more tenacity than she felt… Nova could see Akira compensating.

Wordlessly, Nova went and fetched two agents that worked the security shift for the morning. They looked bleary-eyed and bumbled along after Nova. She collected a straitjacket from the shelves outside the room and handed it over to security team.  
Akira noticed Nova reappear at the door, flanked by two other people. Her eyes went wide when she noticed the jacket.  
Nova indicated Akira with her chin.  
“No… NO.”  
Akira was all kicks nails, flails… and fails.  
“I cannot use sedatives. It’ll slow down the action of the healing serum too much.”  
Nova informed, sadly.  
Akira yelled with the little strength she could muster in between the futile struggling.  
“Yeah and you need fix this new toy asap, only for precious Ezekiel to break it again, right?!”  
That hurt. More than Akira realised, she did not know everything about Nova’s life. She did not know exactly how Ezekiel got her to do his bidding and how often she had to push past accusations like that.  
Nova didn’t grace Akira with a response. She turned to the agents again.  
“Hold her down a second…”  
They did and with the patience of a saint, Nova reapplied the patches and nodded. 

The agents exchanged a look and decided to stay out of it. They simply followed Nova’s unspoken instructions. They tightened the straitjacket and checked the loops and fastens once they were through, while Nova made sure that the pipes attached to the patches were accommodated for correctly by the jacket. Akira would be incapable of peeling those off too.  
Two birds, one stone.  
Nova thanked and dismissed the guards. The worst was still to come. She went to collect a NG tube.  
Akira squirmed and growled. This was the third time someone would be invading parts of her… one way or another, for one reason or the other, all without her consent. She now recognized the panic constricting her chest. 

Nova did not see the panic. She did not know what Akira was struggling with, but she already had enough on her plate, without that. She tried her best to remain clinical and slipped her hands into the gloves. She pulled the long tube out, made her measures and then squirted some fluid onto it.  
Meanwhile, Akira chanted,  
“I know this is all your fault. This is all your fault.”  
Nova felt the tears well up in her eyes and blinked them away furiously.  
For her own good. For her own good. She chanted in her mind, in quiet retaliation.  
Akira did not intend on making this easy. She made snapping motions with her jaw, threatening to bite, but despite everything, Akira did not have the heart to really harm Nova. 

Gentle hands rolled Akira to her side and the tube made its way into her, up through the nose.  
The squirming led to some minor vessel breakage; blood followed. Soon, Akira was gagging and retching as the tube snuck up to the back of her throat.  
Akira’s eyes reddened, so did Nova’s.  
She knew she would not be able to speak once the tube crossed her vocal cords.  
Desperation evoked a tone Akira had never used on Novara and as a last-ditch effort, she hissed with exertion.  
“How- many times will you fix us after Eze’s done, Nova?”  
Novara’s eyes snapped up at Akira with a deeper sense of sorrow than before, she could handle the accusation, but the source being her best friend, chafed at her.  
_Another victim... But, just because he’s an asshole, doesn’t mean I can just let… you wither away._

Finally, amidst pained gasps, Akira swallowed, and the tube slid deeper in. Nova had enough experience with non-compliant patients, she just never expected Akira to be one of them.  
Akira stilled once the procedure was over and Nova secured the tube. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.  
Nova leaned over her, their faces an inch apart. Akira tried to look through her.  
“I’m doing this for you, and I will fix you and anybody else… as many times as it takes. You are not giving up.”  
_As many times as it takes for him to finally break me? There is no way here… Nova. No one is coming to save me… us…_  
Nova could not hear Akira’s thoughts, but tears streamed down her face as she turned away. She made sure her words were vague; she did not take Ezekiel’s name. She did not mention his other victims.  
Warily she made her way to Jared. He could not possibly be asleep anymore.


	7. Soul-nourishing soup, mind-rending realities

Jared was not really sleeping.  
The room was too white for peace; white sheets, white walls, white floor, ceiling, even the furniture. The lights were sharp when they were on, the darkness was incomplete when they were turned off.  
This contributed to a vigilance and paranoia that promoted restlessness.  
The few times he did manage to slip into slumber, he woke up in sweats, battling the punishing nightmares borne out of the truths of his past. Tariq had coaxed those triggers to the surface with such elan.

In some ways, reminders of the things he had partaken in, hurt worse than the batons. In fact, it made easier for him to endure the physical pain, because he managed to make it feel justifiable. A part of Jared felt like he deserved it.  
Increasingly, the crippling fear of what his nightmares would hold kept wrought a state of insomnia.  
He felt like a child grappling with the monster under their bed.  
He was not alone. He noticed that Akira hardly slept either. He could make out from the way she breathed, from the way her shadow on the other side of the screen stirred. Sometimes he was almost compelled to say something. But did not.

Jared did not sleep, but he often pretended to. He got plenty of rest that way.  
He had noticed that the BioHackers were less stilted when talking over him, if they thought he was sleeping or unconscious. This gave him a way to assess his state more reliably. So whenever possible, he would pretend to be asleep, just so he could tune in and out of conversations as per relevance. According to the most recent exchange he had eavesdropped on, he was doing well. He was woken up either by Alcyone so they could run tests, or by some of the crueller medics, the ones that got a kick out of describing the gruesome degree of his injuries in details. He did not care much. The lack of fear and reactions on his part eventually made them stop out of boredom. 

This was not the first time he’s endured something like this. A part of him had hoped it was the last… But with every passing day, it became obvious that it was not. There was more in store for him.  
He had sensed the presence of someone else in the room and squinted his open eyes, enough to see who it was in the glass of the window he was facing.  
_Nova?_  
She looked relatively unharmed and was walking around unrestricted. But while her body was free, her spirit seemed subdued at best, and enslaved at worst. Jared had known a very different Nova.  
He shut his eyes properly when he noticed her walking closer, still uncertain of her loyalties.  
She left him to his devices and rounded onto Akira instead.

He overheard their interactions, transfixed. The sounds of the bowl crashing made Jared flinch both times. Akira was capable of some vicious tantrums, but her relationship with Nova had never witnessed such venom. He had not had a chance to see Akira. Maybe if he had, he would have made the same call as Nova, which certainly felt extensive to him as an observer.  
He heard the plea and horror in Akira’s voice as she struggled… She was not wrong. Jared had gathered that they were only being treated extensively so that Ezekiel could draw from them whatever he wanted. If Ezekiel anything like his brother, it would be more than just information. 

Akira really was collecting her own set of dark demons. He couldn’t help but dwell on how much he had not wanted this for her.  
_I hope this was all worth it… Shira._  
He’d realised that Akira had some agenda, some ulterior motive, and that she’d been going at it relatively alone. Now that it felt like they had hit a dead end, the impending sense of doom put her foolhardy and stubborn nature into perspective. And nothing really mattered…  
Jared pulled himself up using his elbows and propped himself against the wall while Nova worked with Akira.

By the time Nova approached him, she was already so dilapidated.  
They locked eyes.  
There was something comforting to just lay eyes on someone familiar and not unkind; especially since Akira didn’t fit that mould for either of them right now, she was rather full of hatred against... Everything. 

“Are you going to give me trouble too?”  
The question had an assertive tone when it formed in Nova’s mind, but upon utterance it sounded meek. She was still not accustomed to seeing the man who had been her mentor, like this. He was the reason that she was somewhat capable of handling the giant she had taken on, unintentionally.  
Jared held up his heavily bandaged hands, in surrender and to let her know that he wasn’t capable of, or intending, to put up a fight. His fingers had been trampled on, amidst the baton-beating frenzy. The wounds had developed a nasty infection; it had left him feverish too. 

Alcyone said his digits did not look like anything any more and that he would’ve lost them if it weren’t for them. Alcyone liked letting her patients know that they were lucky to be on the receiving end of their brilliance. True to their word, Alcyone, with Nova’s assistance, had made remarkable progress in returning the functionality and appearance of his hands.  
Progress was good, but despite that, Alcyone—who wished to right by the expectation of their boss—took every extra night that Jared and Akira remained in the hospital, as a personal failure. 

Nova felt bad for the crude way that she phrased her question and sighed. She didn’t bother with a manual assessment of his temperature and went straight for the MediScanner.  
“101.3, not bad. Should come right down after you break another sweat.”  
If only she knew of the nightmares that came with that.  
He nodded.  
“I kno- ”  
She paused and tried sounding more casual. Like all her memories of Jared were vague, distant and unimportant, practiced callousness.  
“-recall that you didn’t like anyone taking care of you, but I hope you don’t make this harder on yourself.”

Her tone sounded careful. It left him wondering if someone was listening in. It was either that, or she too had switched sides. Irrespective, Jared was a little amused by her attempts at sounding austere. However, she had done whatever it took when Akira tried calling her bluff, it had left him surprised. But he had always known that when push came to shove, Nova had always put patient recovery over patient preferences and sometimes comfort. She was just very mindful about not letting it get to that point. But circumstances now worked against her.

“I assume you’ve already been taking car- working on me? I see no reason to get in the way now.”  
He spoke flatly, feigning his own lack of interest. They both saw past the pretences they were putting on. She composed herself again and cracked a smile.  
“I’m glad you understand my position… and yours.”  
He noticed the taciturn demeanour and unlike Akira, he maintained eye-contact whenever possible, to learn whatever he could from her implications.  
He returned a stiff smile and beckoned her to hurry it along.  
“Let’s make this quick.”  
He’d assumed she was simply going to tube him too, so when she slid the porta-table in front of him, he was confused.

Nova had lost her appetite, so she fetched a single serving bowl this time and set it on the table.  
Jared noticed her hands were shaky.  
“Tough start to your day huh?”  
He was not good at breaking the awkward silence, but he felt compelled to set Nova at ease, as she stifled her sniffles.  
“Tends to happen when your patient has endured being captured, interrogated and shot at.”  
Her words bore the hint of genuine accusation, which she exaggerated. He also sensed a curious bewilderment.  
_Guess she would want to know how far I went…_

He could not possibly get into those details. He would not want to even if he could.  
And yet, there was more that Akira had endured, things that neither of them knew about. The soft whimper that lilted in the air from the other side of the screen was a testament to this.  
No one said anything any more.  
The sun had abandoned the horizon and streaks of warm rays splashed across them through Jared’s window. It looked out into a small garden that was imprisoned by the host of intimidating grey buildings. 

Jared regarded Nova carefully. She had shown little interest in accentuating physical beauty when she was at SpecSyn. He remembered this well, because it surprised everyone that she did not allow her natural features to complement luxurious fashion choices; it just felt so apt.  
Today, he noticed the silken dress she was in. It elegantly clung to her in all the right places. A cursory glance at her feet revealed sleek rubber sandals, convenient and appropriate for her job, and yet they stole nothing from her get up, as if designed for it. An intricate choker piece brought everything together. It hid a purpling mark on her neck.  
She looked less like a person and more like a mannequin.

The soft clinks of her stirring drew him out of his head. Steam spiralled in front of his face as a spoonful of soup was brought to his lips. Nova’s slender, pale fingers pinched the handle of the spoon. She rued this moment. She wished that there were a way for Akira to replace her. This could have been a tender and intimate process… She had always rooted for the two of them, despite the darkness of Jared’s past and the dimming light of Akira’s future. 

He widened his eyes and stared at Nova. He hated feeling this helpless. The tube would have been easier than this. He could not possibly let her feed him.  
“Can’t you just tu-”  
Nova looked at him with sad eyes.  
He cut himself off. It became apparent that she was not ready to perform that procedure again… Not on an ally. Unlike Akira, in small simple ways, Nova made it clear, that she did consider him an ally.  
And she saw Akira the same way. Its deepened Jared’s suspicions. There were things at play that he did not know about.  
Reluctantly, he opened his mouth. The spoon scalded his lips and tongue a little, but he stifled the urge to flinch with ease. He swallowed his pride with the soup.  
Something about the scorching fluid felt soul-nourishing. He could not help but whisper a compliment.  
“It is… really good.”

Nova glared at him and shook her head almost imperceptibly. Her voice hardened and she began explaining her reasons, which seemed redundant, but wasn't.  
“Drinking it is better than the tube because it goes through the entire tract and is absorbed better… which helps with the recovery.”  
Akira’s breathing grew laborious, then quietened again.  
Now that she was closer to him, he noticed bruises on her pale skin; fading ones on her neck, fresher marks on her shoulder and arms. There were some that disappeared into the borders of her dress. He tensed and grit his teeth. The warm spoon coaxed his mouth open again; reluctantly, he swallowed another spoonful despite the queasiness elicited by his observations.  
“Nova…”  
Jared trailed off. He did not trust himself with words.


	8. Can speak, can't really talk.

The way her name fell out of Jared’s mouth made it obvious that he had seen parts of her she should’ve hidden better.  
Nova panicked a little. She dropped the spoon into the bowl with a soft plop and considered buttoning her lab-coat again. She even considered leaving.  
But she did neither of those things. Jared was here, Akira’s cover was tenuous,  
_…This is my fault…_  
And the future looked grim. But Nova never relinquished hope.  
If there was a way to make it through, it was by minimizing all the deceit that clouded the air between them. Even if that was going to be uncomfortable, it was a small price she was willing to pay. 

She closed her eyes and swayed just a little, like a blade of grass in a gentle breeze. She stilled. When she opened her eyes again, there was an unwavering resolve and a distant look. She picked up the spoon again.  
“Lovely, aren’t they?”  
Jared’s brows furrowed. He was slightly confused.  
_Is she referring to her bruises?_  
“What?”  
He sounded positively shocked.  
She offered another spoon of soup.  
“Oh, don’t play coy, I saw you looking.”  
She replied in an uncharacteristic sing-song voice. She did not sound accusative, which was a relief. Jared had never seen her as anything except a friend and a mentee. And noticing these discolorations was certainly not going change that. The only reason his gaze lingered was to catalogue them as evidence of seemingly intimate insults and to decipher the extent.  
_Not that I can do a fucking thing about it._  
Jared averted his gaze sharply, but not guiltily. He did not reply. 

“Ezekiel likes to leave me little gifts… Reminders of where he’s been…”  
Her voice faltered just enough for him to realise she was feigning something that sounded like pride. She trailed off and he risked making eye contact again. Amber eyes peered into the steely-grey ones… Intently. She gasped softly and exaggeratedly. She covered her mouth with her hand.  
“I should _not_ have said that.”  
She did not sound guilty. Her fingers slipped off her mouth and slid down her neck, a trill of a dark giggle hung in the air. 

It sent a chill down Jared’s spine. It seemed to have affected Akira too, because he heard her retch.  
Reminders of what Nova had put herself through, left Akira feeling guilty.  
Even if Nova had slipped… and even if it had a part in making everything worse, wasn’t it Akira who always preached that intentions had to account for something? 

Nova quickly shushed herself. She traced the length of the choker tenderly and maintained eye contact with Jared. She narrowed her eyes just enough to make some sort of a point. She wished she could tell him about the ‘gift’ he brought that changed everything. But that, was a risk she was not willing to take, because it endangered more than just her own safety.  
_I’m probably taking too much of a risk already._  
He followed her fingers carefully as they stroked the choker so deliberately. He would not put it past Ezekiel to surveil Nova using some embedded device. And he would not put it past Nova to figure that out. He had trained her after all. He could not be sure, but it certainly seemed to be the case. That was a warning. They would have to mind their words.  
“I’m just so lucky, I can’t help but gloat sometimes.”  
Jared sat up straighter. The more she emphasized her false happiness, the more he saw it as a plea for aid… He knew that could not be right, because his hands were tied. Quite literally. And broken. 

Nova was not screaming for help. She was just trying to share her truth.  
Ezekiel and Jared had history; it was not pretty. He wondered how much she knew. And how she could bear to look at him if she knew the details.  
“Right.”  
Jared was curt. He did not have to hide his displeasure for this to work. It made sense for him to not take to this too kindly. And he did not.  
Akira coughed and retched again, more pointedly this time.  
“Excuse me.”  
Nova slid off Jared’s bed to check up on Akira. 

The NG-Tube had finished delivering a healthy portion of the soup to replenish her. The dark-haired girl already looked better. There was some colour on her face again.  
Akira gasped and shook her head, squirming in her jacket like a petulant child. She hated not being able to talk.  
“I think it may be safer just keeping the tube in, no? Lesser chances for you to throw tantrums, Aki.”  
Nova spoke evenly and looked down at her patient sternly, she had her hands on her hips and tapped her feet against the floor softly.  
Akira glared at Nova and made some angry sounding protests. Her guilt waned in presence of what she saw as a power trip. Nonetheless, that spark did not last long enough. The frustrated groans reluctantly morphed into whimpers. Akira would not have wanted anyone else but Jared and Nova to hear the plea in her voice. 

Nova really could not see Akira suffer. She had already done her part by making sure she was fed. Additionally, she realised that she could use Akira’s help in divulging the things she wished to share. To the apologies she wanted to make…  
“The straitjacket stays on, but I’ll get rid of the tube…”  
Nova quickly followed through on her words. Akira sprung off the bed as the tube was pulled out. She heaved gulps of air between spells of sputtering. Nova rubbed her patient’s back and waited for her to settle.  
“I… I’m sorry.”  
Akira mouthed an apology. Nova nodded slowly and offered her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.  
She pitifully made gestures at the screen with her chin. Her throat felt a little raw and she did not use words for her request. Akira wanted to see Jared.  
Nova shook her head. It was too risky. The two of them sighed. 

“Bet you have quite the love story, don’t you, Nova?”  
Jared’s tone was bitter. But he only indulged this conversation because he understood Nova’s intentions and wanted to help her pass on the details that she could.  
Nova tore her gaze away from Akira and ambled back towards Jared’s side.  
She beamed at him, with a forced radiance.  
“Oh absolutely!”  
She lifted the spoon from the bowl and collected some lukewarm soup onto it. Jared had gotten used to the process and opened his mouth mechanically, but he did not close it on the spoon this time. The bowl was almost empty and was not hot. He wedged it between his wrists and gulped it down. Letting it clatter to the table with a certain frustration, he looked back at Nova,  
“Please, do tell me more.”  
He was deliberately and excessively sarcastic. 

“Remember the last field operation SpecSyn assigned me to? It did not go so well. Despite the amoral tactics SpecSyn used, Q.B. came out on top…”  
Nova glorified Quantum Brigade. Jared nodded earnestly but did not trust his words.  
“Oh yeah, that was the one that Tariq got all burned up on, right?”  
Akira chimed in. Uttering Tariq’s name left ripples of discomfort in the room, for her and for Jared. However, context was necessary for Jared to connect the dots.  
It was after that mission that Akira had significantly decreased her use of the Entanglement formula and started avoiding correspondence with SpecSyn.  
That in turn had compelled Nova to use whatever resources she had at her disposal to find her.  
One could assume Tariq’s fate is what prompted Akira to become a turncoat, but it was not. 

Jared cleared his throat to prompt Nova to go on.  
“I thought I was wasting my time with SpecSyn, and Q.B. would better understand my ambitions. It took me a while, but I managed to find an avenue…”  
She didn’t feel the need to share the precise methods she used in order to get to Q.B.  
SpecSyn traded in information; how to obtain it was taught to all their agents.  
Nova licked her lips slowly and paused. She inhaled deeply to accurately embellish her words with the alleged excitement they deserved.  
“You know, they’d heard of me! I was so thrilled when Eze decided to interview me personally. Like… that is an honour.”

“I see. Bet it was love at first sight.”  
Jared chastised dryly. He could not help it.  
Nova went on.  
“Absolutely was, he asked me out almost immediately after I’d presented my stats… Aki knows all about what a fairy tale it’s been, right?”  
Akira didn’t expect to be dragged into the conversation, but she made a non-committal sound that rang of vague agreement. She could not keep up the pretence as well as Nova, in her state.  
Though Nova had made it a point to keep Akira relatively informed, much like the way she dragged Jared into the loop. Neither of them knew a very crucial detail… But Nova could not risk that, nor did it make sense to burden her friends with the knowledge of another life at stake. 

Nova pursed her lips. It was not easy to carry on, but she had to lead to her explanation and apology somehow. Against her better judgement, she took the calculated risk.  
She clicked her tongue insistently.  
“Like that day I was gushing about the first choker Ezekiel had gifted me… And someone had been smoking in the bathroom despite the prohibition, so we joked about the whole cigarette stunt Jared had pulled when we were training... Remember?”  
She knew she had probably made things too obvious.  
“Oh… yeah…”  
Akira was still lost, since she had no idea how this was relevant to the story.  
But Jared understood. He was quick to extrapolate the rest.

Akira had gone off the radar because something about SpecSyn’s approach, probably their treatment of her friend… set her off. Nova, in search of Akira, had put herself in a vulnerable situation and trapped herself with a fucking asshole. Ezekiel had bugged the jewellery he gifted her and picked up the conversation between the girls. And it led to Ezekiel realising that Akira may make good bait for him.  
And they had all fallen prey to his fucking scheme.  
All of them broke the cardinal rules set during training.  
Jared pounded the porta-table in frustration. None of this mattered anymore.  
His fingers hurt and his entire body stiffened; the tenseness sent waves of pain through all his injuries. He winced.  
The sudden sound left the women in front of him a little jumpy. Nova’s dissimulation wavered.  
“Are… you ok?”  
He exhaled slowly.  
“Yes.”  
-  
Later that night, Nova flicked her hair off her face after she finished brushing her teeth. She noticed Ezekiel reflection behind her. He wore a smirk, but his ruby eyes flashed darkly. Something coiled in her stomach. She tensed and gasped softly.  
She laughed nervously to cover up her involuntary reactions.  
“You scared me.”  
His hands slipped around her waist with an imposing confidence. He nuzzled into her platinum curls. He joined her laugh, with his own deep chuckle.  
She tried to relax against him.  
“Hmm, did I? Why would that be?”  
She closed her eyes and let her arm snake over his.  
“Just… startled, I guess.”  
He dangled the first choker he’d gifted her in front of her and watched her in the mirror, just as she watched him.  
“I just love that you show off about what I give you… And we have so many gifts to play with… right?”  
He kissed her neck softly, then sunk his teeth into her flesh. She could feel his smile against her skin.  
_I did it… I made it worse for her._  
Nova’s heart sank with the realisation.


	9. 'Do what you gotta do.'

Thin bars of sharp darkness and thicker bars of diffuse light streaked the floor of the east facing cells. The uniformity and perfect geometry of the parallel lines was disturbed by the body lying on the ground in one of them. They were not at war, so he was the lone prisoner.   
The ceiling was too low for him to stand comfortably.   
He had been detained, ever since he’d walked away from Ezekiel after his stint with Jared. The charges: insubordination and abuse of power.   
Tariq could not say they were unfounded. He was just rankled by Ezekiel’s attitude, they were supposed to be friends. He didn’t expect partiality, but there was something about the blonde that had changed since the arrival of Jared. 

He lay there stubbornly, against the harsh onslaught of the piercing morning rays that were meant to rouse the captives. This was the third sunrise he was witnessing from behind bars.   
He tactically positioned himself in the middle of the lock-up. He knew that over the course of the day, the roll of the sun warmed the dark stony walls, till they were scorching to the touch and exuded heat uncomfortably. By the evening, the light was not as relentless in its invasion, but the prisons were left dry and stuffy. It left him feeling parched, sweaty and exhausted. He had had no visitors, no one to fetch him some water. 

_Clang. Clang. Clang._   
Ezekiel swiped the baton over the sable rods.   
Tariq sighed and lifted his arm just enough to try get a glimpse. He flicked his tongue over his chapping lips, it felt like sandpaper and did not really help moisten them. Ezekiel looked sanctified with the light behind him. Tariq croaked the question dully.   
“Is it time then?”  
A burly man opened the door to the cell and hauled Tariq up to his feet, he teetered and was brusquely supported till he found his footing. The man spoke in a gruff tone.   
“You will stand while addressing Sir.”  
Ezekiel watched with disinterest and did not stop the man.  
Tariq stared at Ezekiel. They had always been friends before superior and subordinate.   
He did not have the strength to argue.   
Ezekiel did not answer Tariq’s question, and gave a curt order instead.  
“Follow me.”  
“Yes, Sir.”  
Two voices echoed and overlapped. Tariq finished slower, taking his time to wrap the words in sarcasm till it dripped from letter.   
Ezekiel smirked. He knew Tariq hated the theatrics around the difference in their hierarchy, but usually played his part reluctantly. 

The roads were not too hot against his bare feet yet. He walked free. Decorum dictated that so long as he was compliant, restrains were not necessary. They walked towards the arena in silence.   
The man shoved against Tariq whenever he showed signs of slowing down. This left the mecha pilot irate.  
 _Should have given me some food and water if you wanted me to run a marathon._   
Ezekiel hurried along with some unspecific urgency.   
The three traversed the length of the dark, cool corridor that stretched underneath the stands of the arena.   
The medieval atmosphere was maintained.   
Tariq was guided to the makeshift pedestal. Each step he climbed felt like a nail in his coffin.   
There was a thick wooden pole in the middle. Such poles lined the periphery of the fighting pit and a few sets lined the space just below the pedestal. The one on the stand just attracted the bulk of the eyeballs when a public punishment was performed.   
_But there is no public here._

There was a ring of metal that crowned the rounded top, rusty manacles hung from it. The wood bore scratches left by the people subjected to their sentences. Tariq looked at it like he was acquainting himself with a stranger.   
“Stand against it. Arms around it and hands together.”  
Tariq didn’t reply but began turning around.  
Ezekiel tapped Tariq with the baton.  
“No. Face me.”  
Tariq paused. He did not want to ask questions, but that was certainly unusual for the standard whippings.   
Ezekiel flaunted his impatience.   
“Do I need him to make you?”  
Tariq sighed and stood with his back against the pole. He wrapped his arms around it and locked his fingers together.   
“Tie him.”   
The man nodded and marched behind Tariq, he made quick work of Tariq’s freedom.   
Instinctively, Tariq pulled away and confirmed that the bonds were secure.   
“Leave us.”   
“Yes sir.”   
The man saluted Ezekiel with an exaggerated elaboration as if he was trying to set an example for the prisoner.   
Tariq rolled his eyes. 

Ezekiel finally got a good look at his friend. His cheeks were slightly gaunt and there was a shadow of a stubble marring them.   
He angled Tariq’s face with guiding fingers against the man’s chin, forcing his amber eyes to stare into the ruby ones.   
He noticed how Nova and Tariq’s irises were of a similar, unique colour. It amused him.  
“What were you thinking, Tariq? Were you… thinking?”  
Ezekiel pulled out wrist wraps from his pocket and began winding it against his arm methodically.   
Tariq had no defence. Jared goaded him and he fell for it. He was not proud, so stared on, patiently. 

“He lived. Should be stable by tomorrow. Good for you, would’ve been a pity to add murder to the charges.”   
Ezekiel sounded happy.   
Tariq sighed with relief. He had never intended to kill; in fact, he hadn’t quite wished for things to go as far as they did. He did expect a measured sense of violence, but he had gravely underestimated the power of his words and the current of hatred they stirred.   
“Stole from Ezekiel’s personal revenge list, more than murder, right?”   
Tariq still felt bitter about the way his friend was treating him. They had been buddies for too long for him to truly let this get in between them, or so he thought.   
“Yes, you shouldn’t have meddled.”   
Ezekiel did not even bother denying it. At least, Tariq could respect the transparency between them.   
“Right… But, if the outcome is the same, what does it matter, you did want him broken, right?”   
Tariq asked the question that irked him the most. He thought their friendship had been more equal. He earned himself a quick jab to the ribs, it knocked some wind out of him.   
“Because he’s mine.”   
Eze punctuated his words by another strike. He bounced in front of Tariq like he was standing in front of a punching bag. 

They would play around like this sometimes. Tariq liked proving he was strong by rolling with the punches, he would throw a few cautionary ones as retaliation, but they never harmed one another. It also did not involve either of them tied to a pole in the past. Tariq took the flurry of strikes as well as he could. Eze was not aiming to damage, just hurt. He was simply making a point.   
“You do not take what’s mine without asking me, T.”  
He stepped away and shadow boxed for a few moments. Then sent a kick to Tariq’s side.   
Tariq pulled against the ties as his involuntary instinct to catch the leg that flew his way on instinct. It was to no avail.   
“I’m going to need to break you in front of your men, you understand that, right?”   
Ezekiel almost sounded sorry, or at least, he did not sound ecstatic at this proposal. It would have made him happier had it not been Tariq on the receiving end. Though he was upset, he was still attached to Tariq.   
“Do what you gotta do.”  
Tariq looked past his friend again. Whatever the future had in store for him, would have been easier to endure if he didn’t know of Ezekiel’s personal involvement. He assumed whatever this was, was going to start now. 

“I’m not an idiot, Tariq. I know you’re not an easy man to break.”   
“You’re the one who believes all men to be fragile, Eze…”   
“Yes… some more than others, some less.”  
Tariq scanned the empty stands. He could not help but imagine the faces of his squad mates among the crowd. At least it did drive the point home.   
Eze went on, slightly mechanically.  
“You’ll be tied out here every morning and returned to your cell in the evening, until the day of the punishment.”  
Tariq sagged a little. He already felt his valour fade. He had imagined a quick torrent of lashes against his back, like he’d witnessed so many times before. This felt a lot more… prolonged.   
“When will that be?”   
“You’ll know when you do...”   
_He's really trying to make an example of me_  
Ezekiel turned to take his leave. 

“Eze… How is she?”  
The blonde looked at Tariq, disappointed and dismayed.   
“I’d warned you about Kira, didn’t I?”   
Ezekiel walked away, leaving Tariq with ominous thoughts about his childhood friend’s condition. Tariq’s insistence on keeping her as a friend, despite Ezekiel’s _suggestions_ was one of the reasons Tariq was going to have things worse.   
True to his word, Tariq was escorted back to his cell after the sun set. He hated that his legs didn’t take confident strides, instead the exhaustion induced a hobble-wobble.   
He gratefully fell to the floor of his cell; he lay there curled till he passed out. 

_Clink. Clink. Clink._  
Tariq woke with a start. It was still dark.   
Anna rolled the back of her scalpel against the cellar gate. She played the rods like a xylophone.   
A bottle rolled and stopped against Tariq’s heel.  
Tariq clambered up and snatched it. He gulped down whatever Anna had provided. Some of it dribbled down his chin as he poured it down his throat with desperation. When he was done, he held out his hand.   
Anne clicked her tongue and rolled another bottle of BuzzBo—electrolyte rich, nutritious beverage.   
“I saved them for myself y’know… They served my favourite flavour today.”  
She spoke absently, twirling a strand of her sleek hair.   
“Thank you.”  
Tariq responded between sips. He drank the second one a little slower. He knew she like to attribute a certain grandiosity to her friendly gestures and expected gratitude accordingly. He did not usually indulge her, because it was more fun that way. But he could have kissed Anne right now. He could tell that was the persona she was wearing, given her childish tone.   
He wanted an answer to the question Eze had left unanswered, almost as desperately as he’d craved fluids and food.  
“How is Kira?”  
“Alive and not as concerned about you, T.”  
Everyone sounded acidic when referring to her.   
So, they all knew then?   
“But that is ok, she knows better now. Vivi and she had a… word.”   
Anne’s reply was distant. 

Tariq’s demeanour darkened, as did his tone. Suddenly, he did not have the patience to deal with her personas, nor did he want to let her hide behind them.   
“What did you do?”  
“You mean what did Vivi do, dummy… Anyways…”  
She quickly outlined what happened between Akira and Vivi. Sparing the precise details but getting the point across.   
Tariq threw himself at the bars, hands thrusting through the spaces and clawing at Anne. The locked door rattled. He growled like a caged animal.   
“What. The. Fuck. Vivianne?”  
She stepped out of his reach.   
“Easy there, tiger. You don’t want someone to see this and add attempted assault to your charges.” 

Tariq was sapped of his energy quickly and slipped against the bars. He kneeled with his head against the door. Feeling hollow and helpless, he closed his eyes.  
The night was eerily quiet. The only thing audible was his uneven breathing.  
“She had it coming… And do not go yelling at Anne when you have a problem with me. I did what was necessary. At least she’ll think twice before crossing people again.”   
Vivi did not care to wait for Tariq’s counter.   
She sauntered away into the night and despite the friction between them, she knew she’d religiously return the next evening to provide sustenance. He knew that too. Comrades didn’t give up each other.

Tariq still believed Jared had swindled Akira somehow, though with the way everybody was behaving, they almost made it look like it was Akira’s fault.  
Somehow, Tariq didn’t feel as betrayed by Kira as the others did.   
He was not sure why… because she had kept things from him. But, he had always sensed that she was hiding something. As a friend… and a little more ever so occasionally. He simply did not lift the curtain to check. They all had their parts to play, on stage and off.   
Learning the truth, felt more like a revelation than a betrayal.   
Fatigue pulled him to the floor again.


	10. To break a man.

Tariq squinted against the sun to scan the stands. Officers, agents and the soldiers sat in concentric, ascending loops.  
In the pit, twelve men, six on the right of the pedestal and six on the left, were already secured to their respective poles.  
Someone uncuffed Tariq.  
Ezekiel was walking with the ex-SpecSyn crew: Nova, Akira and Jared. He broke step with the others and crossed the pitch to warn Tariq, they were still friends after all.  
“Heads up! You’ll be giving them twelve each, the whip is hanging on the fence of the pedestal.”  
Tariq offered a side-eye.  
Ezekiel shrugged, slightly apologetic, but also amused.  
“You brought this upon yourself, mate.”  
He gripped Tariq’s shoulder reassuringly. Tariq jilted the hand and made his way to collect the implement. Everything and everyone else faded. It was just him, his men now and a heavy sense of guilt now. 

Ezekiel returned to Nova’s side. She had escorted Jared and Akira to an appropriate spot. They were still within the perimeter of the pit.  
Akira dryly asked, “Why aren’t we in the stands with the others?”  
“You’ll see…” Ezekiel responded, portentously with a wink and then excused himself again, so he could oversee the punishment.  
An announcer spoke into a mic from somewhere in the audience. His voice boomed over the sounds of the hose that systematically washed down the bare-backed men.  
“ _Given the unprecedented nature of this violence, it was deemed necessary for the squad to suffer consequences too, Officer and Special Agent Tariq Meissa will be administering the lashes onto the guilty members. This will be his last act as their Squadron leader._ ”  
Something sank in Tariq’s heart as he carried the coiled whip towards the first victim. He paused next to the man—Scott.  
“I’m sorry for putting you in the position I did.” 

Scott looked up at him with fearful eyes. His light brown ringlets hosting droplets of water, clear as dew, from the hosing before.  
“I-Its ok… sir. We all m-made this mistake. We’ll all… get through it.”  
They nodded at each other before Tariq took his spot.  
Tariq had beaten several men…in combat. He had never whipped a tied man before.  
He was surprised at how the snap of a whip, as he swung it for practice, instantly created a ripple of silence. It worked as well as a gunshot.  
The whip sliced the air and found its mark across Scott’s back. But left only a faint trail of red in its wake. 

Eze had to prompt Tariq to strike harder after that dismal attempt.  
In favour of efficiency, Tariq was glad that he had always picked up things quickly…  
Each following strike left thick angry welts, blood pooled in the intersections.  
Tariq knew all these men by name, knew their stories, knew their pasts and their aspirations for the future. He had earned his spot as leader.  
He approached each one and apologized to them before proceeding with the lashes. Some were noble in their acceptance; a few were spiteful, out of fear. Most were resiliently silent, especially towards the end.  
Each squad member and the whip were hosed before the next victim. The process became mechanical.  
But did not lose its import.  
He dropped the whip after the last. The braided leather fell like a dead snake. His arm hurt from the delivery of the correction, but he made no mention of that, nor could he in good faith show any evidence of it. 

Ezekiel had sauntered back to the three ex-SpecSyn agents once Tariq reminded him of why they were friends and adopted his role to perfection.  
The announcer’s voice boomed again.  
“ _Before we proceed, Quantum Brigade would like to commend Alcyone and Novara Ricci for working on the injured party—_ ”  
Ezekiel had his arm around Nova’s neck, he leaned across her to address Jared.  
“There is my gift. Your time to shine,”  
“ _—Jared Knight,_ ”  
Jared denied the offer through grit teeth.  
“No.”  
“ _Tirelessly and timelessly, rendering him capable to appropriately._ ”  
Ezekiel’s chokehold around Nova tightened imperceptibly, except for the soft sound it elicited, just for Akira’s and Jared’s ears. It was soon lost in the murmur of the crowd.  
“It’s not really a choice when the announcer has already called you up, Jared. Don’t make do something neither of us want and just take the offer I know you do want...”  
“ _-exact retribution for the trauma he suffered._ ” 

Jared’s fixed his gaze onto the pole on the pedestal. Tariq lingered by the stairs to the pedestal, blankly.  
“You have _no_ clue what I want.”  
“Maybe not, but I’ll find out eventually, until then, I recall you being good at this sort of thing under my _esteemed_ brother Nikolai’s guidance…”  
Nova, Akira and Jared tensed simultaneously.  
This was exactly the kind of hold Ezekiel wanted on them.  
The pretence was already such a tenuous veil.  
“ _We hope that the Red Knight will appreciate kindness and our gift of good faith. And start a journey towards collaboration and recovery._ ”  
Jared’s hands made fists on his thighs. Ezekiel was not wrong. This was hardly even a choice at this point.  
“Clock is ticking.”  
Ezekiel’s prodding was intensified by another soft whimper that escaped Nova’s lips despite her attempts to quell it. The raucous sounds that followed Jared’s urgent footfall towards the whip, immediately swallowed the sound.  
Ezekiel’s grip loosened and he kissed her cheek.  
“You did well… My SuperNova.” 

Akira stood in attention, her gaze flitting between Jared and Tariq, while her ears were invariably hyperaware of the moment between Ezekiel and Nova. She felt trapped and nauseous.  
The crowd applauded and jeered in equal measure, a testament to the ratio of fans and haters.  
Jared cared about neither as he stooped to pick up the punishing whip. 

Tariq took his cue and stepped up onto the pedestal. His heart was pounding in his chest. But he tried his best to not let fear take a hold of him. He flattened his chest against the pole and held up his hands to the foreboding manacles. He was secured. Something sharp was held against this spine, with enough force for Tariq to feel the pressure, but not enough to draw blood. Inattentive hands lifted the cloth of Tariq’s t-shirt, into the blade of the knife moored against his flesh.  
It was swiftly ripped off him. 

Jared leaned against the railing of the scared as they hosed Tariq down. He noticed the faces of the twelve men, who were left fastened to the poles, presumably till their leader had faced his consequence. Then he appraised their ex-leader. His body taut against the onslaught of the relentless jet of water. Jared noticed the dragon tattoo that wreathed around his left arm, climbing under his shoulder. The snout of the tattoo was marred by burn lesions, that he presumably sustained on the front lines against his last bout against SpecSyn.

“ _In a matter as intricate as this one, it is difficult to pin responsibility and accountability. However, it has been decided that Tariq Meissa must bear half of the total of what his men endured. That is seventy-two lashes._ ”  
Jared’s knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the whip.  
I am being made to fucking flay him.  
Tariq’s bravado faltered, only Jared noticed.  
The crowd was atwitter. The scuffling as people rearranged themselves was audible. Several officers sat up straighter, inched to the edge of their seats and leaned forward shamelessly awash with macabre fascination.  
Despite the entertainment factor of the now, Jared was not going to come out of this looking like a hero. When the beloved Tariq would inevitable break under the whip just as Jared was left broken under the baton, his part in it would come back to haunt him. Just like it did every time he wielded an implement like this one. He closed his eyes, burying the memories that threatened to cripple him. _For once, can't I just enjoy my share of vengeance?_  


“One.”  
There was a designated lash-counter to prompt him.  
Silence bloomed when Jared raised the whip.  
The whip’s hiss made Tariq’s hair stand on edge. Again, he had taken a beating in a fight several times, but he had never been whipped—well not like this, not in such a severe capacity.  
The point of contact split open. Tariq’s hiss echoed that of the whip as he drew in breath through grit teeth.  
_I’m... probably going to die._

“Two.”  
Jared followed the flick of his wrist as the whip became a blur in the air. Briefly, he got a glimpse of it again as it plastered itself against the canvas of Tariq’s back. Tattoo, burns, two stab wounds: one near his left rib, just under the long neck of the dragon and one over his right hip… and now whipping scars. 

“Three.”  
Tariq’s body contorted like a bow, pressing into the pole in front of him. He threw his head back.  
Jared noticed the clenched eyes and the bared teeth, as he choked back the sound. Jared didn’t take that as a challenge, that number would take its toll. 

As expected, by the tenth Tariq exhaled noisily after every strike.  
_Number. Whoosh. Crack. Heave._  
Each lash tore at him than the one before. At first, none of them overlapped… Which, even in the grips of pain that felt unendurable, made him admire Jared’s precision, assuming it was intentional.  
It was.  
For the next few strikes, there were only single intersections between the cuts left by the cruel whip. They immediately coaxed thin vermillion trickles, that were lapped and smeared at random by the leather with every next strike.  
_Was this kindness? Just a display of skill?_  
One couldn’t humanely whip a target for too long. Jared ran out of space… and patience.  
By the twenty-seventh lash, each new slice of the weapon drew out short mangled cries. Tariq’s body remained consistently tense.

 _Number. Whoosh. Crack. Cry._  
Within another few, the yelps became loud and the shudder-inducing wheezing poured into the space between the lashes.  
When they were about to hit the forties. Ezekiel strolled up the pedestal and held up his hands. Jared wished he could just strike Eze across the face.  
Pale, cool hands stood stark against Tariq's warm dark face as Ezekiel patted him. A silicone bit, and some gel-like substance was shoved into Tariq's mouth, at first, he bit at it instinctively.  
"You're going to need this."  
Eze whispered and noticed Tariq puffing his cheeks, ready to spit this _kindness_ out of his mouth like a projectile. He pressed his palm against Tariq and shook his head.  
"Don't. Trust me."  
Eze was really trying to be a friend, in his own way.

Each breath was a soft wheeze. With the little fight he had left in him Tariq pulled away from the hand. But did not spit out the bit against his better nature. He did not have the time or energy to pick a fight with Ezekiel. As much as he would have liked to... He could not risk making matters worse. His pride was already cracking.  
_Number. Whoosh. Crack. Muffled yelp. Wheeze._  
Ezekiel was right. When unbeknownst to Tariq the pleas rose in his throat the bit stole the meaning from the blubber of words.  
Jared understood. Jared also empathised.  
From a proud man in shackles, Tariq fell. Buckled knees and arms shaking with the weight of his sagging body.  
Flesh and blood. Sweat and tears. And nothing else.  
_Number. Whoosh. Crack.  
Number. Whoosh. Crack._  
“Seventy-Two.”  
_Number. Whoosh. Crack.  
Silence._


	11. SexyBack?

_Earlier that day, before Tariq’s whipping._

Amber eyes remained downcast. Under the table, his hand gripped the flesh of her thigh casually. Not cruelly, or even uncomfortably, but there was a threat.  
There was always a threat.   
The gesture grew into a firm, affectionate sort of kneading. His fingers tucked into the softer skin of the inner thigh; his thumb remained anchored on the firm outside. Sometimes, his other hand would disappear into the curtain of her silken, platinum perms.  
Nova remained very still. 

Ezekiel’s gestures were inconsistent and perfunctory. He was not looking at her, not constantly. Periodically when he did grace her with his gaze, it was always accompanied by that toxic smirk.   
She always returned it with a plastic smile, embellished with feigned gratitude. Nova couldn’t tell if he could see through it anymore. Or if he wanted to. Novara and Ezekiel had their chairs pulled very close together. They sat huddled, he crowded her often. 

Across the table, fitted with unlinked shock-collars and cuffs, sat Akira and Jared.  
Those two, on the contrary, had space for two chairs between them. They sat almost as stiffly as Nova. She had not been permitted to meet Jared and Akira after the day she offered them soup.   
The consequences she suffered at Ezekiel’s hands left her hollow and carefully compliant now. What he did to her physically had not been too bad, he always left her well enough to continue working. She wished that she were the one who had truly suffered his wrath…   
The only silver lining about that night was that the _Advanced-Shealing-Serum_ now worked at acceptable rates and did so, on very grievous injuries.   
Ezekiel was pleased, not just with the results, but especially with the knowledge that the use of the serum was very painful. 

This was a negotiation, with only Ezekiel making his offers.   
“So, you see, Q.B. would like us all to come to a consensus. Work together.”   
Jared looked at him squarely. It took all his willpower to not let his gaze flick to Nova, or turn all the way, to pin Akira.   
Akira too, followed suit.   
Ezekiel did not flinch at the glowering, he basked in it.   
“And I, for one, am very interested in this process of breaking, remoulding and mending our… relationships.”  
Nova could not help but notice the words were analogous to the process of her serum. She hoped it was just her obsession with perfecting it that sometimes bled into her reality and coloured everything.   
This was not one of those times. Ezekiel used that turn of phrase, deliberately.   
The silence was deafening. 

“Awfully quiet, aren’t they?”   
That was a question for Nova. She had learned to reply swiftly and without needing to be prompted.   
“Yes, they are.”   
He clicked his tongue and got up, gripping the sides of Nova’s chair, with an excited grin.   
“Well, I have something for Jared. Hopefully, it’ll change his mind about arrangements we can come to. Please, follow me.”  
All of them were escorted to a vehicle and pooled into the prototype of the hovering car.   
They drove to the east-facing cells near the arena. To pick up Tariq.   
The chains from his cuffs were attached to a bar that decorated the back of the armoured car,   
Tariq was made to chase after the vehicle, barefoot, on the sun-scorched road.   
None of them turned to look at the haggard prisoner. He sought solace from the silhouettes of his victims—Akira and Jared—through the screen of the back window. They looked well. 

Nova stared at her freshly painted toes (polished as per request) and fiddled with the locket on her choker. One look at Tariq was likely to draw tears and Ezekiel did not like her when she was too ‘whiny’.   
Ezekiel was Quantum Brigade’s second-in-command and was kind enough to not make a complete mockery of his friend. He did not spur the chauffeur to drive too fast and Tariq was able to jog along towards the arena.   
Ezekiel was growing rather fond of the rapt attention his words received in the absence of any other sound.   
“Usually this phase is quite entertaining when the prisoner is someone universally hated, but Tariq… well, I suppose people don’t want to see him suffer _too_ much.” 

The blonde asked the driver to accelerate just enough to have Tariq trip a couple of times as they neared the ornate gates. This was for the benefit of the soldiers that had accumulated to watch the ingress of the accused before they made their way inside through the conventional entry.   
It seemed everybody had abandoned their code of conduct and discipline for the day, and yet their reactions were not as blatant as Ezekiel expected.   
“See… A snicker or two at best. Usually there is a lot more name-calling and jeering…”   
He sounded disappointed and proud simultaneously.   
Tariq’s knees and the outside of his arms were a little scraped. But beyond that, he was fine.   
Once they reached, Tariq was hauled to the pit through the underpass. 

Ezekiel escorted his accumulated posse through the overhead corridor.   
“I’ll be overseeing the process, but I’ll shuttle back and forth, can’t leave my esteemed guests alone for too long now, can I? My dear SuperNova, do take them to their spot.”   
Nova had realised that the tapped choker was not for surveillance and monitoring anymore, since it was not a clandestine venture. They both knew it recorded conversations. He still insisted that she wear it; its existence forced her to be conscious of her words, or to opt for silence. Mistakes always had consequences, the kind that weighed on her mind, heavily.

Her constant fiddling with the device-embedded piece of jewellery had Jared warned and reminded, but not Akira.   
The ritualistic quality of the corporal punishment had them all disdainfully gripped. Nova kept her eyes to the ground and tensed at every crack of the whip. Jared did not avert his gaze as often as Akira did. Tariq being made to break the sacrosanct bond between a leader and his squad, hurt her on a visceral level. She knew how close he was to them and how many times he had put himself at risk just to protect his teammates. She realised that she had never shouldered that kind of a responsibility… And was grateful for it. 

Yet, there was a part of her, perhaps the sadistic variety, that saw this as fair retribution. Each strike reminded her of what Vivi had forced her to witness. Whip for baton, baton for whip…   
First, she rebuked it.   
These were the very same men who tried breaking Jared. Tried! He is okay…   
Perhaps, it should have felt less justified when Jared was by her side and largely unbroken, physically anyway. However, when everything can be mended, isn’t it the suffering that one is held accountable for, especially when intentional?   
_Just because wounds heal, doesn’t mean it was ok to intentionally inflict them._  
She folded her hands. Her tit-for-tat approach aided her in witnessing the processions with a newfound, grim resolve.  
So, when Ezekiel offered his gift to Jared, a juvenile side of Akira wondered why he did not jump at the offer.   
_He hurt you. You hurt him. It’s only fair…_  
But there was more at play than she knew. Heavy hints that Ezekiel dropped, verbal jabs that found their mark. She seemed to be the only one missing something.   
Tariq was affixed to the pole and Jared took the whip.  
Something roiled in her heart at the rip of Tariq’s prisoner slipover. The contrast between the last time Tariq bared his back for a whipping and this coaxed unrelenting and unbecoming memories.   
~~~  
“Turn it up! Put it on repeat!”  
Tariq bellowed, bottle in hand.   
“Vivi is going to kill you! You know she likes her beauty sleep and her dreams…”  
Akira chastised with an exclamatory hiss and trying to reach for the bottle that he held way over her head.   
“She’ll be fine, we can take her wrath. Do it! Pretty please!”  
Tariq batted his eyelids and tried holding the bottle ransom.   
“Don’t blame me if you’re not rested and the mission goes badly.”  
Akira raised her hands and refused any responsibility.   
This was a few nights before the mission that left him with the burns on his back. She and Tariq had indulged in a movie night. Sometimes, they ardently tried to recreate the adolescence The Supremacy had stolen from them.  
“I have a few more days, I’ll make up for it… do it!”   
That’s all the assurance Tariq needed to provide for Akira to give in and reluctantly turn up the volume.

♫I’m bringing SexyBack♫  
“♩Them other boys don't know how to act♩”  
Tariq left the bottle on a high shelf and began shuffling to the music. And then they started miming the lyrics to spontaneous choreography of vivid gestures, echoing laughter and giggles. She shushed him periodically and he dismissed her as often. Tariq assumed his role with more abandon than Akira did, but she found herself getting comfortable.  
He watched her swaying and shimmying to the music for a moment, especially when she’d closed her eyes and surrendered to the moment.   
♫Because you're burning up, I got to get it fast♫  
“Is it getting hot in here or what?”   
And so, began his little strip-tease – just him pulling off his t-shirt slowly, while she hooted and whistled and pretended to shower him with bills. He had just the scar on his right hip.  
He continued to move to the music putting his wrists together and winking as he sang along.   
“♩Dirty babe, you see these shackles, baby♩”  
Akira smirked, her eyes darkened playfully, and she teased,   
“I see no shackles…” 

Tariq raised his eyebrows, minutely intrigued and pranced on, closing the distance between them and returning her hooded gaze. He held out his standard Q.B. shock cuffs.   
“♩I’m your slave♩”  
She smirked nervously but held her own. Cocking her head, she held his offered hand and twisted it behind him. She snapped the cuffs onto the wrists he had so brazenly offered and giggled. He looked over his shoulder sheepishly and sang on.   
“♩I'll let you whip me if I misbehave♩”  
“Oh, you’ve definitely been misbehaving. Too bad I don’t have a whip.”  
Akira half-joked but had some intent behind her words.  
Tariq stopped singing and stilled. He regarded Akira with an intrigue, wondering just how far he could push this.   
“Well, if that’s the only thing stopping you, the lads gifted me one when I got promoted to Squad Leader. Some joke about needing it to shepherd them…”  
He threw a bait and Akira took it. 

“Stay there, and tell me where it is?”  
He directed her around his room, to the door the whip hung behind. After she collected it, she ran it through the loop of between her thumb and forefinger and hummed appreciatively at the way the leather felt.   
“It’s like… real…”   
“Yeah, it’s small though. Tiny whip for tiny Kira.”  
“I didn’t say you could speak.”  
She corrected, only because she often didn’t take kindly to reminders about her petite form. But her tone was still jovial. He laughed, apologized and pursed his lips shut.  
“Keep your elbows straight and locked ok? And squat a little, no getting up.”  
He was rather accustomed to holding stress positions. The squat was not tough to hold, his legs were strong enough. 

She set the rules and directed him in a way that felt effortless, to their surprise.   
The song played on but could not mask the gentle hiss of the whip as it cut through the air.   
“Mind the tatt-”   
The unexpected sharpness of the sting interrupted his words. His wince was short-lived and quickly replaced by a grin.   
Akira found herself inhaling sharply at the way the strike sliced through Tariq’s warning. She stared at the red welt that began growing like a vine across his back.  
She noticed his grin,   
_He was okay._  
Before either of them had a chance to fully grasp what was happening, Akira struck again, fuelled by the rhythm of the song. Both stripes avoided the tattoo so far, but even if they did not, they weren’t likely to scar.   
She tiptoed around him, circling him like a predator.   
“You’ve been pretty bad; I hope you’re ready…”   
The moment felt smooth. They settled into their roles without any friction or hesitance. There was inherent trust and ample curiosity.   
“Oh, I’m ready.”   
She pressed between his shoulder blades to deepen his squat, till he was half a foot shorter than her.   
“Don’t expect me to go easy on you. If you really cannot take it, ask me to put off the song…” 

She proceeded to leave ribbons of purplish-red across his sinewy back. Relishing the moment when he could no longer keep still and silent.   
Even as the pain started testing him, he found himself enjoying… it. A little too much.   
Tariq sibilated pleas, entertainingly.  
She went on till the evidence of real struggle seeped past his stately coolness.   
Tariq groaned through gritted teeth. His breathing grew shallower.   
Akira paused; he did not ask her to put the song off. She ran her finger over the freshest weal.  
Tariq closed his eyes and wriggled in his cuffs and found himself arching against the paced strokes... and stilling at her touch.   
She let the whip hang across his shoulder, and sat down in front of him, watching him intently.   
He sobered a little at her gaze. 

And then the room was filled with peals of chuckling, that left the two heaving and coughing.   
When they caught their breath, Akira uncuffed him.   
Tariq, who had fallen to literally roll on the floor as he laughed, picked himself off and spread himself on his couch. Akira propped herself higher on the armchair and made an offer without thinking it through.  
“I… I could do this again… We should switch up too…”   
“Just this, or… more…”  
Tariq asked brazenly, and it was Akira’s turn to redden as she responded.   
“More things like this… I can’t like…”  
She mumbled something deliberately incoherently.   
He understood, and it did not change anything. He had noticed that she’d always been averse to physical intimacy, even the garden variety. It was the way she had been all through their childhood.   
Now that she was older, he wanted to ask if there was someone else, somewhere else.   
But he didn’t.   
_More_ , was only an option, not a necessity. Not for him.   
“Then I look forward to more of _just that_ when I get back.”  
~~~  
It was selfish to get lost in snippets of memories, in moments and promises that reminded her of the friend Tariq had been. Was her subconscious trying to make arguments against her blatant judgement?   
The first mutilated cry that tore out of Tariq’s throat tugged her back to the barbaric reality unceremoniously.   
Akira’s resolve melted like ice on a hotplate. She could barely breathe. The back she had once left pretty ribbons on, was now lacerated beyond recognition.   
Tariq had been in the wrong, but he was still her friend. Jared had suffered, but this certainly was not making him feel better.   
Tariq’s slow breakdown was as difficult to watch as Jared’s discountenance. This was not worth it.   
Gentle fingers closed around her fists.   
Akira’s panic-stricken eyes met Nova’s tearful ones. 

Ezekiel returned after offering Tariq the state-of-the-art bit. The existence of such a thing swam in such deep contradictions. He took his place by Nova and commended Jared’s abilities brutishly.   
“Practice really _does_ make perfect.”  
Akira was not sure what Ezekiel was referring to. She had never seen Jared whip anyone. Presumably, Nova did, because her grip on Akira’s hands tightened. Eze did not disturb the tender moment.


	12. Strength in surrender.

The grimness of the still scene terrified the sun into setting behind the stands. It cried scarlet tears that streaked the sky a hue that seemed to glower at the people below.   
The twelve men of the squad were peeled off their poles. The audience was dismissed.  
But as Ezekiel had promised, this ordeal was not over. He accosted Nova and Akira closer to the pedestal. Nova didn’t argue and Akira dragged herself along.   
Tariq stirred and pulled himself to his feet. He pressed himself to the pole, breathing unevenly and offering his arms and legs some respite. His eyes remained screwed shut, his jaw clenched against the bit; the movement drew a sharp groan into it. 

Jared was nauseous.   
“I… need a moment.”  
But also relieved.   
_At least he isn’t dead._  
No one stopped Jared as he sped down the pedestal. It was not like he could run away. He was still fixed with the shock-cuffs and shock-collar and was grossly out-numbered.  
Jared needed a moment of privacy to come to grips with everything. Ezekiel offered him that respite, while clawing away at the relief.   
“Be back soon Jared, we’re not done. He’ll be taking more.”  
Jared paused in his tracks and then walked on.   
Eze tore his ruby eyes off him and addressed the girls.   
“Thirty-six more, to be precise. The charge for this one isn’t public. It is for keeping information-” 

“You’re going to fucking kill him. I thought he was your friend!”   
Akira spat accusingly; she could not play by unstated rules anymore.   
Ezekiel was unfazed.   
“-from his superiors. Something about shirt. Tch. Don’t cut me off like that, Kira.”  
There was a bite to his words, but they were laced with a sickly saccharine tone.   
He rounded up to Akira, she stood her ground boldly. He walked behind her and clasped her shoulders charitably.   
“… This shirt… that was allegedly on you. Do you recall?”  
Her memories before the gunshot wound had been blurry and buried under the events that transpired since. But Ezekiel’s leading statements offered the clarity she had missed before. 

I was in Jared’s shirt when Tariq found me.   
The moment dawned on her. All she had known was the bitterness Tariq’s words had betrayed.   
“Her life is a lot less valuable when she’s in your shirt.”  
But they were also honest. Had any other Q.B. agent found her, they would have assumed that she was fraternizing with the enemy and it would’ve been reasonable for them to shoot her lethally. Tariq had not.   
What bitter irony this was. It was unlikely that anyone would believe the truth even if she told them.   
“This… is my mess.”  
Ezekiel brightened considerably, like he had just won the lottery. Akira couldn’t see him, but Nova could, and she could discern where this was heading. She shook her head at Ezekiel pleadingly. He shot her a warning glare and proceeded.   
"You’re right, he is a friend, but that doesn’t change the rules unless the truly guilty party-”  
“I’ll take them in his stead.”  
The words tumbled out of Akira’s mouth before she’d given her mind a chance to really consider them. 

“Excellent. Thank you, for saving my friend… and yours, presumably?”  
Ezekiel didn’t wait for an answer. He also did not mind Akira interrupting him, because it suited his plan. Eagerly, he snapped his fingers. The lash-counter scurried to the pedestal and undid Tariq’s manacles. The whipped man flopped to the floor with a resounding thud. Tariq hoisted himself up on his arms and knees. He shook his head and dissented in a garble as Akira replaced him at the pole.   
“N-no… My fault. Not Ki-Kira’s. Ez…”  
“There, there… Tariq.”   
Ezekiel comforted in a desultory manner as he and the lash-counter snagged Tariq’s limp form off the floor and placed him slightly slumped against the palisade of the platform.   
He savoured his work coming to fruition. All the pieces were falling into place beautifully. 

Meanwhile, Jared gripped the pristine edge of a basin in the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. The splash of cold water was not enough to prevent the slew of guilt that came strung with the memories of his time at The Supremacy.   
He thought his goal mattered more. He knew better now. Now that he was truly forced to do the things he had once partaken in not-so-unwillingly, just to appease Nikolai and do his duty towards SpecSyn.   
_Was I lost then, or am I lost now?_  
It didn’t really matter, it never did. 

As he grudgingly made his way back, he could only hope that Tariq continued to cling onto life through whatever else awaited him.   
The manacles snapped onto Akira with a finality. It stretched her out much more than it had Tariq. The design was certainly not friendly towards the vertically challenged.   
Jared stopped a few meters away from the pedestal when he looked up and noticed the victim.   
“Welcome back! Perfect timing.”   
Ezekiel greeted cheerfully leaning against the fence of the pedestal and beckoning Jared up.   
Jared stared on blankly, looking uncharacteristically dumbfounded.   
“Oh, change of plan. Akira has agreed to take a whipping in Tariq’s stead, because they’re such good friends… Despite what he did to your beloved Jared, isn’t that right, Kira?”   
Jared’s eyes darted to whip lying in the dust. He made no movement towards it. 

“I- I…”   
Akira faltered and chose silence; she fixed her gaze onto the pole in front of her and worked on ignoring the discomfort already simmering in her stretched joints. This suddenly felt like a trap.   
Eze went on.  
“Thirty-six for Tariq and thirty-six to her name too. For failing her mission and fraternizing with the enemy. A grand even total of another seventy-two!"  
He seemed rather happy with the symmetry he’d no doubt designed. This was planned.   
Akira had seen what that number did to Tariq. The knowledge of the outcome chafed at the fear of the process. She would most likely make it.   
_… and if not… I suppose this is as noble as it gets for me…_

Novara knew that a whipping much like this one had destroyed a tender relationship that a much younger Jared had fostered. Ezekiel had boasted of it while talking about his brother’s shenanigans.   
“Eze… please…”   
She tried dissuading him softly.   
Akira shifted her weight from the balls of one foot to the other.   
In her mind, this felt like a blessing. She would rather have Jared wield the whip than anyone else. He had some beef to square with her, sure, but she trusted him to not enjoy her misery, even more so today than ever before. Somehow, she could seek solace in that.   
Shouldn’t he be relieved too? Would he rather it be some stranger? Or Ezekiel?   
Akira did not know the details of Jared’s past. She had no clue how deep his nightmares ran, in her defence, he had never let her in. So, she couldn’t fathom the hold-up or why Nova was taking this away from her.

“Not. Another. Word… My sweet sweet SuperNova. Pick up the whip, Jared.”  
Ezekiel hushed her softly and made his order.   
Jared remained resolutely still. A gun was unholstered and aimed at him.   
“Do it then.”   
Jared taunted, looking past the barrel of the gun, into the ruby eyes of the wielder. Ezekiel simply swivelled his arm, so the gun pointed at Akira behind him. He did not even turn to look at his new target.   
“Almost a day and a half in interrogation with the world-famous Red Knight and she comes out so… unscathed. Beloved indeed, huh?”  
Ezekiel made elaborate gestures as he spoke. He took a few steps backwards to align himself with the pole. He cocked the gun, place it against Akira’s temple.   
Akira held her breath involuntarily.   
“You and Nova matter a lot more to Q.B. than she does. So, the question is, what is her value to you…”   
Jared reached for the whip; his movements were hollow. He streeled up the pedestal with heavy footsteps.   
Ezekiel cooed, “Good.”

This was Jared’s nightmare coming true. His hands shook; steadying them felt impossible. The larruping would be a lot less even in pace…   
Given the lack of choice, he was eager to get it over with.   
Akira turned to face Eze and the gun, the barrel slid to her forehead. Her cheek rested against the pole. Eze was not looking at her though, his gaze was transfixed onto Jared.   
The blonde’s general dismissiveness rankled her more than it should have. She didn’t matter here, and she had not mattered at SpecSyn either. They had offered this mission not because she was special, but because she was disposable.   
The reminder of her diminished value felt more painful than the whip ever could.  
That was till she felt the biting tool. 

The whir of the whip was warning enough. They had not stripped her out of her grey top, a dark crimson line bloomed across the fabric.   
Little else compared to the smarting laceration drawn by the very first strike. It begged her attention in its totality. She lurched against the pole; a choked-back wail fought its way out of her throat.   
Akira was given no time between the strikes. Her cries undulated over one another. She could not help but notice the rush. She was not receiving the finessed delivery Tariq had and with each howl and feeble whine, she was acutely aware that she was not taking her share with as much poise as he had, which shouldn’t have mattered, but was oddly disheartening nonetheless.   
Within a couple of minutes, they were halfway through.   
Eze held up his hand and impelled Jared to work on his pace.   
“Tariq’s punishment is all squared away, for her set, do take it slower, Jared.”

But Jared did not stop, a few more strikes rained down across her. The lash-counter was directed to physically hold the man back.   
Jared wrested out of the man’s grip with enough violence to knock him down. But it forced Jared to cease the whipping. He growled, “What? I’m doing what you want!”   
Jared sounded dangerously unhinged and petulant.   
Akira who had been swaying in the manacles, stilled. She’d never heard that tone before. It reminded her of the night she had caught him in his nightmare. She wished she could see him.   
She would have not liked the sight.   
He looked pale and sickly and in a rare moment, he felt indignant. 

_Why is life playing such cruel games with me?_  
Every resounding crack of the whip was accompanied by a flash from his past. Countless wounded bodies and backs… and hers; his first love. He was barely twenty when he was made to leave those etches on her back—the ones that marred their budding relationship so irreparably. They had parted ways and he had sworn to never allow himself to love again. That he would focus everything he had on taking down The Supremacy, no matter what it took. And it took a lot. It took too much. It took more than Jared had in him to offer. He should have never loved again.   
He broke that promise and so many others for Akira, for… his Shira… Only to land up here. 

The breaths of the whipper and the whipped, were synchronized as they panted.   
The only difference was that she whimpered softly with every exhale. He didn’t.  
“Tch. Those don’t count. You’re doing what I want, but not how I want it. Let the lash counter lead.”  
Ezekiel could get refreshingly blatant.   
Akira needed to let Jared know she was okay. That they could get through this. Tears glistened on her cheek and even after the whip had laid waste to cloth and skin alike, she wanted to set him at ease. She drew in a quivery breath to fuel her attempt at reassuring him. Pretension was futile. Everybody knew of their shared past, had assumed their connected present, and were operating under the belief that there was an imagined future. And why would she deny herself that hope?   
“It- It’s okay… Jared… I c-can take it. We will g-get through this”  
Jared mirrored the shaky inhale.   
_I do not know if I can…_

He closed his eyes and steadied himself.   
Nova wept with abandon. Tariq who had been dwindling in and out of consciousness, had gratefully succumbed to the latter and was the only one who looked peaceful amidst the chaos. Ezekiel was too wrapped up in the drama between Jared and Akira to mind much. He patted the back of his gun wielding hand, as a mocking applause.   
“Bravo. See, you have got nothing to worry about Jared. She can take it and you’ll make it through!”   
At long last, Ezekiel glanced at the whipped woman. She managed a weak smirk, which held his attention long enough for her to muster the strength to whisper, just for Eze’s ears.   
“Jokes on you, Eze. I’ve been tr-trying to get him to d-do this for a while.”  
Ezekiel snorted softly. He responded to her cocky remark with fluent cheek.   
“Is that so? I’m so glad I could help…”  
He let the barrel trace the outline of her nose, moving steadily down till it was against her lips.   
The breaths that were still synchronised hitched.   
She wanted to keep Ezekiel’s attention on her, so she pouted, and her tongue jutted out to testily flick against muzzle.  
 _Flirting with death. Ha._  
She had considered it more often than any of them knew and more than she would ever care to admit. The end was an inevitability after all. To her, the warm metal tasted of fearlessness. Her fearlessness.   
Alas, the day called not for fearlessness, but courage. 

Ezekiel motioned Jared to carry on and toyed with the safety of the weapon.   
“Thirty-Seven.”  
The whip falling on freshly wounded skin after the moments of respite drew a screech and gave the gun access to the inside of her mouth. The barrel was shoved in to silence her. Akira gagged against it.   
“Shhh…”  
Now, she could taste Ezekiel’s smug gratification in the back of her throat, it mingled with her mortification. The mortal coil she had been so frivolous about tightened its grip on her.   
_Holy hell, I don’t actually want to die._

The fear left her riled, just by existence. She wanted to be fearless in the face of death. But she was not and that anchored her. She was not dead yet and she could _choose_ not to be miserable.   
It did not have to be anyone else. Just them. Just Jared and Akira. Like it had been so many times before. Ezekiel and his stupid gun would not matter if she didn’t let it. And if a bullet found her, she would die satisfied.   
She closed her eyes and surrendered. The pain sank deeper into her, or perhaps, she sank into it. It felt like walking into the ocean after a peaceful day at the beach. The waves of torment swelled, ebbed, and consumed her. They felt friendly… safe. It did not stop her from gritting her teeth against the barrel, but she repeated her promise to Jared it in broken vowels, at varying amplitudes and pitches.   
“ _V ge roo dis._ ”

Something shifted in the air between them.

Jared was taken aback when he recognized the difference in her state. She continued to viscerally react to the whip. But she embodied the promise she chanted, till she could, despite the threat of death sitting in her maw.   
Contrary to what she had witnessed of Tariq’s experience, Akira struggled lesser as the lashes drizzled on. The lines on her t-shirt were less demarcated. The diffused darkening left wet splotches that stuck to her back and then peeled off, with every strike.   
Eventually, unconsciousness found her. Jared was forced to finish the sentence just like he had with Tariq.


	13. It's in the past.

A soft squelchy sound accompanied the gun as it was pulled out of Akira’s mouth. Ezekiel swaggered towards Jared and casually wiped the weapon on the sleeve of his shirt. He left his hand resting against the agent’s shoulder lazily and inched closer.  
“I see everyone’s fascination with Kira, she sure can endure…”   
He pulled away, holstered his gun, and pocketed his hands. His fingers slid over the dial of the shock collar and cuff. He predicted he’d need it before he went on to say,   
“If I didn’t already have Nova, I’d have taken her too… Maybe I will.”  
He was playing Jared like an instrument and he loved it.  
  
The whip sliced the air before Jared realised what he was doing. He reacted on instinct, some part of him must’ve had enough.   
Eze let it wrap around his arm. The momentum was lost in the looping, but it still stung, especially the tail-end that flicked across his cheek.   
He grunted, but relished Jared’s raw reaction enough to make up for the displeasure.   
Jared tugged on the whip to pull Ezekiel closer, his fist was ready to contact that smug face.   
Ezekiel rolled the dial as he stumbled forward.   
Akira’s slouching, unconscious body tensed in gentle ripples as electricity surged through her nerves and muscles.   
  
Jared’s face too contorted in response to the sharp agony of the current and he staggered to his knees.   
“You’re lucky Q.B. still thinks you’re worth it.”   
Ezekiel spat, freeing his arm from the whip. He redundantly dusted and corrected the state of his garments. He stepped out of Jared’s reach and let the electricity run its course till Jared reluctantly let go of the whip after clutching on it for longer than Eze had expected. The handle clattered softly.   
Bloodshot eyes stared at the floorboards of the pedestal. Jared let his head hang, he knelt like a knight awaiting the knighthood he would never deserve. He shook with frustration and had not realised that his hand was clutching his chest. He had just discovered that it was possible to feel heartache. He dismissed it as an effect of the electricity, because acknowledging its real source would only make things worse.   
  
Ezekiel called for stretchers to take Akira and Tariq to their cells and agents to escort Jared to his room. Quantum Brigade was committed to recruiting the Red Knight. Ezekiel could not change that. But he could make sure Jared denied.   
Action followed his words swiftly.   
The people with stretchers arrived first. Jared watched as the whipped duo were hauled away. It felt surreal. He was slow to respond to the beckons by the agent that approached to fetch him.   
At least he was afforded the gift of privacy.   
  
Ezekiel thumbed away Nova’s tears once they were alone, with a soft clicking sound.   
“Pull yourself together, SuperNova. You are stronger than this. I am going to need you and Alcyone to take care of Tariq. He’s priority.”  
Ezekiel still did care about his friend after all. Alcyone did not know about the success of Nova’s work yet. And he was willing to reveal it, just for the sake of Tariq’s quick recovery. It would hurt, but Eze wanted this behind them.   
She did not shirk his arm, her shoulders folded inwards as she shrunk into his one-handed embrace.  
He was certainly appeased by her acquiescence.   
“But, if you are good for me now, I will let you walk Jared through the process of fixing Akira, okay? It is your brilliance that allows for this… expedience, after all.”

Nova would have brightened at this opportunity; except she knew what he meant. She did not wish for Tariq or Akira to become unwilling subjects for experimentation with her _advanced shealing serum_. Their injuries were diffuse and extensive, the process would be worse than the whipping itself. She would not wish it upon the dead.   
She would almost not even wish it upon Ezekiel, _almost_.   
“C-can’t we just wait for them to heal with-”  
His fingers dug into the groove of her arm eliciting a soft interrupting whimper.   
He had a plethora of signals to remind her of how little her opinions really mattered unless they were directly related to her research.   
“It is either your serum, or nothing.”   
Ezekiel finished; this discussion was over.   
-  
The similarities between Q.B. and SpecSyn in terms of the bare-bone nature of the living quarters was uncanny.   
Pristine and efficient. Beige, white and grey.   
It made sense; the two organizations had been affiliated against a common enemy once. In so many ways they echoed one another. Jared paced by the bed; it was not _his_ bed, this was not _his_ room, yet. But the familiarity helped.   
This too, was meant to be a temporary accommodation till they approached him with their demands regarding his new part in Q.B. Whatever that would mean.   
_A puppet. They want me to be their puppet, no doubt._  
His body was ready to collapse, but his concern did not allow it. A soft knock forced him to suspend his meandering thoughts.   
He did not need to prompt the visitor to declare their identity.   
“It’s Nova…”   
His movements were still slower than usual.   
“It’s just me…”  
She just meant to reassure, not to rush him and that did come through.   
  
He opened the door, she slipped in and he closed it.   
Jared did not stop her when she, with surprising efficiency, wriggled her arms between his and his torso and gave him a hug.   
Sometimes, Nova found herself craving small, kind touches. A physical exchange of comfort and intimacy, even platonic… especially platonic. This need had only amplified ever since she had accepted Ezekiel’s offer, because his fluttering hands never felt safe. In the past, at Q.B. she gleaned this comfort from Akira rather bashfully.  
Jared and Akira were both misers when it came to sharing skin. Except with each other and that too had taken time.   
This embrace she initiated, was so much more than her usual plaintive urges. It was compassion, for everything Jared had been through and an apology for what was to come.  
He had never left himself accessible, so Nova could not recall a time she had hugged Jared before today.   
Today, she held him with a sombre desperation.  
  
He threw his arms around her, over the bag slung across her. His chin rested on her head.   
She sobbed. Tears welled up in his eyes too.   
He held her tighter, but carefully. The frustration that raked him felt like it could make him squeeze hard enough to crush her… And it certainly was not Nova he wanted to crush.  
Jared had probably failed as a mentor and a leader because he had always been a solitary man.   
He preferred solitude, because he thought he invariably brought suffering upon the people he grew close to – Fate had not given him reasons to doubt that. And everything that transpired today added to the surmounting evidence that he was right. But today, when he least wanted to associate with people out of that fear, he finally learned that they all needed each other.   
He waited for her to calm down, to let go and pull away first.  
Eventually, she did. Sooner than she wanted to.  
  
He noticed her hair was in a slight disarray and she was not wearing her choker.   
“Where is…”  
He did not want to name the piece in case it had been replaced with something else. So, he touched the side of her neck to draw attention to the missing ornament.   
She flinched a little, enough for Jared to notice, but relaxed quickly enough.   
“It met with a little accident on the way here, my SmartEye contacts did too. Ezekiel can’t do much more than kill me at this point and I needed… this, without him prying.”   
She spoke through grit teeth. She spoke with a hatred and a ferocity he had never heard before. But her voice faltered nonetheless, like she was willing worse upon herself by tempting fate with this uttered challenge.   
  
His heart reached out to her, whatever was left of it, but the manic worry made him slightly selfish.   
“…Akira?”   
Nova was not offended in the least.   
“The East-facing cells near the arena… She is stable at the moment. Alcyone is checking up on her and Tariq. But…”   
Jared sensed bad news.   
“But?”  
The monosyllabic prompt felt like sandpaper in his throat.   
“But she won’t last through tomorrow if no one tends to her.”  
Jared turned away and threw his hands into the air with a certain violence. He did not bother keeping his voice down.   
“And _he_ won’t let anyone help her?!”  
She was slightly startled, but not surprised at his reaction.   
“Not exactly… He’ll let _you_ help her…”  
He whipped back around and took a deep breath, trying his best to not make Nova a victim of the frustration derived from the helplessness.  
“How?”   
  
She swiftly pulled a packet full of tiny glass vials and syringes and held them out guiltily.   
“These can fix her up to perfection… well, close… within three days.”  
He made the mistake of hoping, of ignoring the warning signs in Nova’s demeanour. A shine returned to his eyes. He snatched the satchel from her hands. In the moment, it felt like a cure to all his problems,   
“That’s brilliant, right?”   
He was just about ready to march to the cells immediately and only waited for Nova’s affirmation, which did not come as soon as he would have liked.   
She averted her gaze, strode deeper into the room, and flopped onto the armchair. She chewed on her lip.   
Jared knelt by her side.   
“Nova talk to me. Please…”  
  
She did not want to beat about the bush, but she could not help waiting for some miracle solution better than the one she was offering, literally.   
“If you thought the whipping was bad, this will be so much worse…”  
Jared’s legs folded, and he sat cross-legged on the floor, deflated. The satchel fell onto his lap. He pressed his face into his palms.   
Cautiously, Nova explained how her serum worked, how her small-scale tests and experiments had panned out. If Jared was not so preoccupied with understanding the workings of the serum, he would have heard the guilt in her tremulous voice every time she spoke of the experiments.   
From the scientific process, to the physical and emotional effects borne out of it, her knowledge was already so extensive. He should have figured that this was more tried and tested than she could divulge, that somewhere there was another victim who had already dealt with this… more than once.  
But he was caught up in the details, ever word she spared felt more daunting than the last. She was deliberately frank; she did not want Jared to be blindsided.   
“It’s this… or nothing…”   
She finished, crestfallen.   
  
Jared had not lifted his head out of his hands as he heard Nova out. He finally looked up at her, and his eyes begged for a reassurance that she could not offer. The vulnerability he had always kept so hidden, now pooled out his being. In the nervous sweat he broke and in the tears that he blinked away.  
“We… we won’t make it through this, will we?”  
By we… He meant _them._ Jared and Akira.  
Nova had avoided extrapolating what the process would mean for Akira emotionally, because she did not want to insult Jared’s intelligence, but more than that… she could not bring herself to make any horrifying predictions. And now Jared was asking her to.   
  
_If this does not become Ezekiel’s habit, they could come out of it._  
Nova feared that this could become a recurring event. That Akira would become another victim for Ezekiel to play with, to force Nova to experiment on and to torment Jared. She did not want to give Jared more reason to worry. He would need his hands to be steady tonight.   
“I- I don’t know.”   
A lingering silence followed.   
He inhaled shakily.   
Somewhere in the cells, Akira too, drew a ragged breath.  
This was another non-choice. His inaction would kill her.  
“Can I… we… afford this? This time?”   
He sounded so diffident and unsure.   
This was a question she could offer clarity on. She rambled to reassure, to make up for the pitiful uncertainty she had offered before.   
“Yes, I would’ve pushed you to leave otherwise! It is actually better if her body starts healing organically a little bit, save some cells that the serum would otherwise destroy… a little unnecessarily.”   
He did not want to feel relieved, but he was grateful for this knowledge. Time could not change much, but he needed it anyways. He nodded with a soft,   
“Okay…”   
More to himself than to her.   
  
He got off the floor and began pacing again. She watched him, he moved like a pendulum.   
“I… I’m so sorry… Are… You ok?”   
Everything sounded stilted. She asked a stupid question that she already knew the answer to.  
And he answered honestly.   
“No. But how can I even begin to justify that around you, Nova… or… her?”   
Every syllable was layered with a spiritual weariness.   
“If there is anyone who knows what all this is like, for both of us, it is you… Isn’t it?”   
Jared stopped walking and turned to look at her.   
“What… do you mean?”   
He sounded offended and cornered. She opted for transparency and brathled again.   
“Eze told us about his brother and you. I mean… more than what everyone else knows… I guess.”   
Jared tensed, he stared at Nova with a searing intensity and shot questions like an interrogator.   
“Us? Akira knows too? What exactly did he tell you?”   
Nova grew a little clammy under his hot gaze.  
“Y-yes, she knows some things. I… I am- I just assumed you and Nikolai, were like Eze and I are.”   
Her words tumbled over one another.   
Jared did not like the way she sounded. Or rather, he did not like the way he was making her sound. He did not mean to scare her or make her uncomfortable in any manner. She was only trying to help and did not deserve the sharpness directed towards her.  
He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.   
She needed this and he probably needed it too.   
He sat down on the couch next to the armchair she was on. He took lesser space than he usually would.   
  
“No… Nova. Not exactly.”   
Her amber eyes watched him with a certain acceptance.  
Jared did not want to presume what Nova and Ezekiel shared. But it felt unfair to weigh their dynamic against the one he had shared with Nikolai.   
“Nikolai and I-”  
Saying his name out loud felt like a curse. He swallowed and worked past it.  
“We grew up together and I didn’t… I didn’t hate him as much as I should have.”   
Nova was surprised and asked pointed questions with a non-judgemental curiosity.   
“Even after what happened with the lady you were betrothed to? I thought today must’ve been hard because of that… Aki doesn’t know about that though.”   
She made clarifications because despite everything, she still did will for _them_ to get through this. She did not want Jared to think Akira was callous enough to put him in the situation she had if she had known everything.   
  
Jared suppressed a shudder as reminders of the slender, wounded backs rattled him again. He stared at the floor as he collected the courage to allow his iniquity to find utterance.   
“It… It was very difficult. Niko, he… he took people… things. He took a lot away and still…”   
Nova didn’t interrupt him, but she was taken aback by what she was learning.   
“Through all of that… and a lot more, he still cared? The only one who did? I do not know what it was, Nova. I just… didn’t hate him enough.”   
He ran his fingers through his hair.   
She stifled any reactions that would betray her shock and gave her mind time to process this. He already reeked of so much guilt. She did not want to make things worse.   
Perhaps it was unfair to open a pandora’s box like this, now.   
_He needs his hands steady._  
She thought, but it she wasn’t ready for this. He probably was not either.   
Nova sought to close the conversation.   
“But you put a bullet in him and that’s that.”   
Jared took the hint.   
He wanted to ask her if Ezekiel ever made her feel that way and did not. It would serve no purpose. He carried the weight of his decisions already. Perhaps Nova had more clarity when it came to her relationship—if one could call it that—with Eze. He did not want to blur that for some twisted sense of validation.   
  
“I did.”  
He replied, with a finality.   
She wanted to ask if there was a part of him that regretted it. She did not. A part of her did not really want to know, and she did not want to force him to consider or admit such a thing.   
“You’re going to have a few long days ahead, Jared. Get some rest. Eze is making Alcyone and me work on Tariq, their cells are close enough, I’ll try help you with Akira when I can….”   
He nodded and got up to see her off.   
And then he was alone, with the pandora’s box that lay open and a mirror that stood stark.   
  



	14. Fix You.

It was a moonless night and the pinpricks of starlight could not get past the dense blanket of grey clouds that wrung out a smattering of rain. The drizzle left a glaze on the road that borrowed light from the streetlamps. They had grown sparser as Jared rounded the corner towards the east facing cells. The late hour felt as grim as it looked. Jared could taste the darkness as he walked along the glimmering path, cure in hand. The silicone satchel that carried the serum swung in his hands with a weight it certainly did not possess.  
A blood-curdling scream tore through the night.  
It was Tariq’s.

The two lit rooms stared at Jared like the eyes of a brooding creature. A yellow incandescence hung thickly around each cell—Tariq’s and Akira’s. Heavy inkiness stood in between like an impenetrable wall. There were about three blocks between the occupied cells, wide enough to not let the luminescence overlap. Sound won, where light lost.  
The howl tapered to bitter groans. Nova and Alcyone scuffled about Tariq, fretting.  
Jared inched towards the other cell. Her’s.

The gate was ajar; someone had left it that way. Someone was expecting him to be here.  
He stooped in, quietly. The air was tainted with a miasma of desolation and disinfectant.  
Her unsteady breaths made spots of condensation appear and disappear on the metallic surface of the table she was on. As he got closer, he noticed she was whispering something.  
She was chanting a song he could not make out, because he was mentally recanting the precise instructions Nova left him with. 

“Shira…”  
The whispered song was interrupted.  
It took effort to open her eyes, but it was worth the glimpse of his face. A ghost of a smile stretched her lips.  
“M-My Red Knight…”  
She was almost inaudible.  
He appraised her form as clinically as he could. Her reaction to his presence made it difficult.  
The arm that hung off the table twitched as if to reach for him, a tender grip found her hand as Jared lifted it and gently placed it back on the edge. It soon slipped off again.  
“ _Try keep her informed while she is lucid and keep her conscious…_ ”  
Nova’s words continued to echo in his head.  
“I’m going to need to get rid of this t-shirt ok…?”  
Something that sounded vaguely like a giggle slipped out of her lips and she nodded slowly, Akira was giddy with agony at this point. 

No tools, except the syringes, needles, and vials in satchel… And gloves, for his hands.  
Blood-caked textile was a lot harder to tear through despite its tattered and sheared state.  
Twisted moans were punctuated with the sounds of shredding cloth.  
Disfigured was an understatement. Woven weals and gashes ran from one side of her to the other, across the entire canvas of the skin in between. The whip had curled around her and with little manoeuvring, he noticed that even her stomach and chest were not entirely spared and braved a few welts. None of them were bleeding.  
“I… I’m sorry. You were so strong…”  
He ran the back of his hand against her cheek and knelt to look into the eyes that opened again and looked at him with an inspired brightness.  
Even the whisper was eager.  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah…” he replied, he was able to hide the weariness.  
“ _The serum needs to find healthy tissue first; it derives its code from there… It’ll work up to the wounds._ ”

He fixed the needle onto the syringe and drew the serum from the vial. Doing this in front of Akira was a bad idea.  
Her body visibly spasmed and she cringed. All her spirit and courage vanished with one sight of the large needle.  
“N-no… no…”  
Her protest found a weak voice.  
Jared had not expected this to be the problem. The needle did look menacing, but she had endured so much worse already.  
He did not know of her fear and did not mean to snap, but he did.  
“What? It will help, Shira…”  
“N-nothing else? Anything…?”  
She could make out this was in vain and she hated that she was in no state to fight it.

He did not have the heart to state the dearth of options and he could not afford to waste more time. His expression must have been enough.  
She turned away from him and was already wincing in anticipation. She didn’t even know that the needle would be piercing open wounds and tender skin around them.  
He picked the worst of the lesions first.  
A plangent mewl and her tears followed.  
And then an interrupted shriek. She took a breath just to scream louder.  
It mingled with another soul-ripping howl from Tariq.  
Jared backed away from the table and leaned against the gruff wall of the cell. He wanted to cover his ears and avert his gaze from the gruesome process that followed. But he did neither because it felt cowardly.  
She tensed as though she wanted to contort but the agony kept her immobile as her lacerations began deepening. 

“ _The serum will first slough off everything that’s damaged, with diffuse injuries it’s… bad._ ”  
The sting from the piercing needle was forgotten amidst the torment of the serum. Delivering the next few doses, as per Nova’s instructions, was easier.  
“KI-KILL ME.”  
Jared practiced his inure and walked back to her. He put his hand over her mouth. She gnawed at it mercilessly and then suddenly bit into the flesh very hard.  
The recruitment of new cells and the reconstruction was unfortunately not a soothing process either.  
Watching her flesh knit itself was hopeful for Jared. He did not move his hand and ran his free hand through her matted curls.  
“It’s ok… Shira. You will be better soon. I promise.”  
As the doses and her energy wore off, he let her drift into slumber.  
She could only afford a few hours before the process had to be repeated. 

Out of curiosity, Jared spared a few drops of the serum for the bite Akira left on the side of his hand.  
Just to try it on himself, to know what it felt like, get a glimpse of what she was going through.  
Once the serum got to work on his hand, he was met with an urge to gnaw it off. He barely managed to stifle the urge to shout and groaned into pursed lips instead. Nova chose just that moment to peek in Akira’s cell, he scrambled to meet her outside.  
“What did you do?”  
She asked in a hiss after noticing the pain he was in. He explained and showed his hand, she shook her head and reassured.  
“It’ll be fine by the morning; the bite is pretty shallow and uniform. How is she?”  
“Better… I think?”  
Words took effort, he too was in pain.  
His uncertainty was still endearing. She peered over him to gauge things from a distance.  
A collar with spikes on the inside and outside had replaced the usual ornate choker. It scratched her skin and left it raw but did not draw blood.  
She caught his gaze transfixed on it. His frustration was palpable.  
She snapped blood-soaked gloves off her hands noisily and pulled away the platinum strands slick against her forehead. She reached for his shoulder through the bars of the prison.  
“I’m fine and you’re doing well… Tariq is better, so I know she’ll be fine too. I will get some things sent for you both in the morning. Wash and disinfect before you inject again. Get some rest, you look dreadful…”

She spoke in an urgency.  
He raised his eyebrows at her assessment.  
She was not her usual pinnacle of conventional beauty either... They were all exhausted.  
He nodded in quick acknowledgement as Alcyone cleared her throat and motioned Nova away.  
Jared caught soft mutters of a heated debate about the efficacy of the serum between the BioHacker medics as they disappeared into the darkness.  
After all the screeching, Akira’s soft whimpers sounded like a lullaby. She was asleep, and he slouched in the corner for some shut eye too. The sun would rouse them soon enough.  
-  
At the crack of dawn, they had a visitor.  
Ezekiel benevolently chucked a bundled shawl at Akira.  
“Morning, Kira”  
She stirred when the carelessly bunched up cloth fell on against the back of her knees.  
Jared was still cradled against the walls and asleep.  
Eze grinned triumphantly and leaned against the grill of the lockup, his greetings were measured whispers.  
“… I know the serum is still in its testing phase, so this must be hard...”  
She grunted in some sort of vague acknowledgement and squinted at the blonde. Too exhausted to associate the hatred she felt for him.  
“I told them not to use it, y’know… But Nova and Jared insisted that you and Tariq get well asap.”  
She rolled her shoulders tentatively and winced. It still hurt but being able to move meant improvement.  
In this instance, she _did_ feel better and so she believed him with a certain smugness.  
_Yeah, they care about me!_  
He knew she would. Noble intentions were easy to sell.  
“Hope you get better soon. I’ll have some things sent over.”  
And so, he left. Her pliable mind was poisoned with the simple lie that he’d carefully concocted.

The dawning sun fought the remnants of the clouds, dappled light pooled into the cell.  
Some men made a small racket as they delivered cannisters of water, bottles of disinfectant and a crate of BuzzBo.  
Jared woke with a start and wiped the side of his mouth, convinced that he may have drooled in his sleep. He had not.  
Her bite on his hand had vanished without trace.  
_The fucking thing works. Nova is brilliant._  
His gaze latched onto Akira’s etched back. She was sitting up on the table, legs dangling. The large gashes had shrunk to thinner cuts. The skin marred by the whip was framed by the cloth that hung over her shoulder. It presumably covered her front because none of the men leered at her as they left. Perhaps they would not have looked whether she was covered or not…  
Regardless, this was fortunate for all parties involved because Jared would not have taken kindly to a wayward gaze. The sheer exhaustion could easily drive him to spoil for a fight. It felt like he had little to lose. 

He noticed her arm twist to reach for a fresh scab with the intent to scratch.  
He shot up and leapt towards her and caught her wrist just in time.  
“Shira… No…”  
He pleaded and swiftly planted his lips against her neck. She rolled her head back against him and whined softly.  
He followed Nova’s instructions and tended to Akira’s wounds carefully and then fixed the needle onto the serum-filled syringe, this time away from Akira’s field of view.  
She swayed a little. The clicking sounds were enough for her to turn and look. Her eyes widened with fear again and her throat felt a little dry.  
“A-Again?”  
This time, the agony brought along aggression as a friend.  
The improvement in her range of motion meant she was a lot harder to handle. He moved to face her, so he did not accidentally brush against the wounds the serum reopened.  
He let their fingers entwine, but quickly had to let his grip slip around her wrists.  
She had a surprising amount of strength despite her injuries and stature. But she could not sustain the effort required to struggle and leaned against him.  
She hissed swear words. Then garbled pleas.  
“Please… Please make it stop...” 

Helplessly, he tried offering a kiss, hoping it’d alleviate some of the discomfort.  
She stiffened and was reminded of a very different kiss that sought to offer _comfort_ and did not. A very different pair of lips that Akira had puckered up for… Lips that had made cruel promises, belonging to a person who had made those promises a reality. A person who took more than Akira had been willing to offer and worse… given more than Akira was ready to take.  
A person Akira trusted… And a person whose trust she had broken.  
Akira growled.  
“No. Don’t!”

He snapped away instantly.  
She felt a little safer with the distance that he offered.  
Frantic eyes searched for him again, her back twisted with a fresh wave of torment. It clouded her clarity. The moment was already heavily tainted.  
“I-is this revenge? Did Vivi tell you?”  
Jared was lost and could only hope this was delirium settling in, as Nova promised it would.  
“Did she tell you? I did not mean to… I didn’t mean to…”  
“Didn’t mean to what, Shira?”  
Reminders streaked in her mind like scenery from a moving train.  
_The kiss, window… Jared… batons… Scalpel… Cigarette… Red pleasure… red hate._  
He could feel the tenseness rip her body, he did not expect a coherent answer, nor did he receive one.  
“I didn’t like it Jared. I did not! You have to believe me, she made it happen… she made me…”  
He certainly didn’t like whatever little he could gather. He was too familiar with guilt to not recognise it plaguing her.

“I promise… I promise. I am not like them… Like Eze or like Nikolai. I know what he is like… I know… what he did…” It was his turn to go rigid. He wished he could know just how much she knew. He did not interrupt her. “I’m not- Not even like Vivi… I only like a little… a little…” Sobs wracked her form. The breathless heaving that followed left her convulsing. Her hands went limp in his grasp. He let go slowly. “Please don’t hurt me for it anymore. Please… Make it stop. I- I can’t take it.” _She thinks I’m punishing her for something? Fuck._ She rested her head against his chest and continued to shake.  
He could only use the moment to deliver the booster doses of the serum, because not following Nova’s instructions would be against his better judgement. He needed her body to heal so they could work on whatever scarred her mind.  
A disorienting quietness followed. The stillness before the storm. 

Alcyone and Nova’s arguments from the night before had bled into today. Their exchange embellished the otherwise silent cell. The gist—Alcyone believed Nova’s formula was ready for rampant, commercial use and Nova simply disagreed vehemently.  
Tariq’s hoarse baying interrupted them. And once again, it soon mixed with a petrifying shriek from Akira.

Jared wondered if they had to restrain him through this phase. In some ways, Tariq probably had it worse than Shira.


	15. Let's play a game... You can't win.

At least the scene evoked a bitter sense of amusement. It had a poetic way of worming its way into their lives.  
A tripod with a camera, between two spotlights.  
Spotlights trained onto the two chairs on a wood-panelled stage.  
Two captives bound to the chairs.  
Two velvety curtains; an inky blue one behind the chairs and the captives, a royal red one behind the lights—to be lifted for the grand highlight of the demonstration.  
Ankles secured to legs of the chair. Arms pinned to the armrest instead of behind the backrest. Cuffs instead of twine.

Novara would have struggled futilely if it were not for Jared strapped to the chair next to her. He had taught her better than to waste her energy.  
They mutually acknowledged the irony and it sparked darkly light-hearted reminiscences.  
He sought and shared the dark humour.  
“It was you they were putting the hood on, right? When Shira laughed and I… well y’know.”  
He was right in assuming that her mind had wandered to the SpecSyn interrogation training day too.  
“Yeah…”  
She managed a nervous laugh. 

“Funny now, isn’t it? This is pretty much what Shira woke to, after I got her…”  
Nova giggled freely.  
“Really? You recreated _that_ day for her? Wow.” She paused before she tentatively asked,  
“What did you ask her? What did she say? And…”  
“What did I do?”  
He asked the question on her mind and proceeded to answer with a wry smile.  
“I think I did enough, but you know her, she’s pretty tough and I… was still biased and attached. It is pretty much why I did not just hand her over to Scar. Nothing I did really got us anywhere for a while and just as I did manage to get somewhere, Tariq and co found us.”  
“Was she really in your shirt?”  
She asked, like a reporter confirming a rumour. 

He chuckled and shook his head.  
“It… wasn’t what it looked like, really. I’d used some water to try loosen her tongue-”  
Nova grimaced.  
Jared rolled his eyes.  
“I said biased, not inept. But I guess close enough, because I decided to let her clothes dry out and offered my own.”  
She believed him. She had no reason not to.  
“That’s it?! Some shitty timing man… Such a ‘you and her’ thing too. ‘I’m going to waterboard you, but I’m also going to care enough to give you a change of clothes after’”  
He shrugged.  
“Guilty as charged, I suppose. I didn’t even bother with the theatrics of waterboarding, plain old tank dunk.”

She shuddered. He looked at her intently for a moment.  
“Shira and I sound… pretty far from an ideal relationship, we must look like crap to anyone on the outside.”  
He mused, according to him any sane friend should have asked Akira to leave him. Nova’s encouragement in that regard, always surprised him.  
“Yes and no… I still believe you will find your way. I can see you two care about each other deeply.”  
Nova didn’t disappoint, she reassured again.  
He took that for what it was worth. How she was still hopeful, not just about them, but about the situation, was beyond him.  
_I guess we are not dead yet._

“Do you think Eze is finally done with me then? Is this it?”  
Her hope did falter. She sounded mortally terrified, but also immensely relieved.  
He did not get to answer. Loud scuffling that could only be the audience settling in the small auditorium, made it impossible for the captives to continue their conversation.  
On the other side of the lush crimson drape, a voice boomed.  
“Welcome, welcome! It is finally the day, for the all-time favourite card game…”  
There was a grating boisterous response from the assembled crew.  
“But today, I have something very special. We don’t have just a pair, we have two!”  
More applause. 

Jared and Novara looked at each other. She was clueless and he could only hope it was not the game he knew of.  
It was.  
“And it’s not just any delinquents and prisoners of war… It is four very special people…”  
Ezekiel paused for effect.  
“First, I present the repaired leader that fell from grace. A friend that I believe will rise again from the ashes like a Phoenix… Ex-squadron Leader Tariq Meissa!”  
The audience heard the heavy, measured strides, but saw no one.  
Tariq approached from the right wing and took his place behind Nova.  
Jared’s head snapped to the left wing. There she was. He saw her a second before her introductory cue. 

“Second, we have our reluctant desensitizer. The alleged, turncoat-turncoat? BioHacker trainee Akira Shroff. The footfall this time was much softer, but equally measured, practiced and mechanical. She took her spot behind Jared.  
She didn’t meet her lover’s eyes. Both she and Tariq stared into the curtain with a dangerous looking anticipatory gaze.  
The pair of them looked hardened and vengeful.  
Novara and Jared shared an anxious look. They had known something was off when Alcyone had suddenly liberated them of their responsibilities towards Akira and Tariq.  
Alcy didn’t even attempt putting on feigned concern for their health and yet ‘for the sake of your own health’ was used as an excuse to exclude the two from the final day of the whipped agents’ cutting-edge treatment plans. 

“Third, we have someone very special to me… The relentless medic, the pioneering BioHacker gifted to us by SpecSyn. My SuperNova… Novara Ricci.  
Novara remained equanimous.  
The drape did not rise just yet.  
In terms of raw recognition, Ezekiel had saved the best for the last.  
“Finally, our fourth participant, the one that doesn’t really need an introduction… THE Red Knight!”  
The crimson curtain was finally lifted.  
The audience gasped collectively. 

They had all been spruced up for the show and dressed with careful thought.  
Tariq was in a Q.B. uniform, he wore a squadron leader badge that had been carefully bent out of shape, it was scratched and besmirched.  
Akira and Nova were in black bodices and black leggings. Lab coats were carelessly flung onto both of them, to complete the outfit. Nova’s hair was left loose, it cascaded against her shoulders in soft silvery curls that looked angelic in the sharp light. Akira’s had her dark wavy tresses, mussed up in a messy bun. Jared was in a white shirt, black suit and tie, reminiscent of his official attire when he worked for The Supremacy. 

“The rules are slightly different. As per usual, we will be drawing a dozen cards and I will be mediating the results. As a twist, I get to perform the act of the card, on the losing team’s inflictor!”  
He had gathered a bunch of likeminded individuals, they all seemed unequivocally thrilled about the extra action.  
“At the end of the game I will share the interesting tale of exactly how this came to be, so do stick around folks. Now… Are we ready to begin?”  
It was odd to see agents in uniform betray such unbridled, juvenile excitement.  
“ARE WE READY TO BEGIN?”  
The racket swelled and ebbed. Ezekiel turned the camera on and picked up the first card. 

“First card. Ooooh, we’re starting with a good one. _Carve your name into their arm._ ”  
Eze was rather theatrical about the whole ordeal.  
Agents brought scalpels on silver trays, Tariq and Akira snatched them up with a rabid eagerness. Jared’s left hand and Nova’s right were uncinched from the chair. Their arms pulled out unceremoniously from their respective coats.  
“Let’s make this one a timed task! Who is going to finish first…? Go!”  
Ezekiel prompted.  
The inflictors knelt by their subjects.  
Nova’s arm shook. Tariq held it steady with a callous efficiency.  
Jared’s didn’t. Akira’s scalpel teetered over his skin.  
“Tariq…”  
Nova’s attempt to reason was squashed with haste.  
“Shh… You’ve done so much worse to me.”  
Tariq hissed accusatively and began the first cut. 

Eze continued playing his part as the entertaining compere.  
“Now, now Tariq, be gentle with my SuperNova… and thank your stars she has another arm for my name.”  
Tariq’s letters were capitals, the cuts were more like scratches. Red lines of irritated skin began spanning the space between the inner creases of Nova’s elbow and wrist. He went over them twice, but only produced light crimson lines, he barely drew beads of blood.  
“Done.”  
Spurred by Tariq’s declaration when Akira finally made the cut, it was deeper, decisive and more of them followed swiftly. Her name was etched into the middle-third of Jared’s forearm, in a capitalised scrawl.  
Jared clenched his jaw and watched her work.  
Each letter cried a solitary rivulet of crimson.  
“Done.”  
Akira stated coldly. 

Tariq was gingerly trying to go over his letters thrice. It stung, but Novara had endured worse.  
Ezekiel offered cursory glances. He was certainly not about to carve his name into Tariq. His bias was obvious, but her hesitance also left her in second place, time wise.  
“Oh… Kira! That was a good attempt, unfortunately, not enough to spare you from the loser status. Hold out your arm…”  
Jared shifted uncomfortably as Akira followed the instruction.  
Eze sliced her up with the flair of an entertainer giving an autograph to a fangirl.  
Akira flinched and cursed under her breath, but otherwise, managed to remain composed almost robotically.  
The audience cheered. 

“Next card: We have… a familiar favourite – _Waterboarding._ ”  
The equipment was dragged onto stage. Novara knew she was being punished for her general insolence against Ezekiel, he had always warned he didn’t take to such things kindly. She tried to glean some solace from Jared’s poise. They had practiced such ordeals before. Suddenly all that training made a lot of sense.  
The planks were arranged with a steep incline. Jared and Novara lowered themselves onto the boards. They were strapped in with belts that ran across their legs, arms, and torso. Their feet faced the wings, their heads took centre stage.  
“Some revenge huh?”  
Jared whispered dryly when Akira stooped closer to cover his face with a damp cloth, in sync with Tariq doing the same to Novara. 

Something flickered in her eyes. A memory? A reminder? He could not tell.  
Wordlessly, she stood back up clutching her bottle of water. Ezekiel rolled a ten-sided dice again, then announced that the waterboarding was to go on for nine minutes. Naturally, neither of the victims were to die.  
This was simple. All they had to do was pour, stop, and pour some more.  
So, they did. Till the boards rattled with the visceral struggles of both the victims.  
How could one even judge this? But Ezekiel did, he declared Tariq the winner again. Something about Nova’s raw reactions, versus Jared’s boring stoicism.  
When Akira was strapped to the board, Jared did not see the point in holding his tongue.  
“You sick fuck. You’re just going to pick on her every time.”  
Ezekiel was enjoying himself too much to let Jared’s baleful attitude sully things. He replied away from the mic.

“Damn right I am. The people do not want to see Tariq hurt… and they have not seen Akira hurt for all the messes she made. This is spectator sport, baby.”  
Akira’s waterboarding was traditional in practice, response, and largely uneventful.  
Three towels were brought and offered.  
Something flickered in Akira’s mind again, her head snapped under the towel with a feral quality and then she was quite demure and cold again.  
“Card three: Use them as a footstool… for-”  
Eze rolled the ten-sided dice again.  
“-three minutes.”  
The crowd grumbled. The card and the duration were both cumulatively deemed lacklustre.  
“I know first-hand that Nova is a good little piece of furniture…”  
Eze taunted.  
In an act of rebellion, Nova righted herself and pushed Tariq’s legs off her. She glared at Ezekiel with a defiance she rarely displayed.  
The blonde chucked and gripped her chin, forcing her head backwards uncomfortably.  
“Aww, I guess that’s something you like to do just for me… Don’t you SuperNova?”  
The glare he offered killed her defiance. It threatened things she did not want to see happen. He kissed her on the side of her mouth extravagantly.  
She bit back acidic retorts, but also did not answer the question.  
Tariq had to play footstool for Ezekiel this time, the failure was too blatant.  
Jared was internally grateful for the respite offered to Akira as she struggled with something in her mind.

“Card four: Stroke their thighs.”  
A few members in the audience sat up straighter, but the large majority remained inscrutable.  
“Strip them!”  
Someone yelled.  
“Gotta give the people what they want, but I’ll cut you a deal to keep it classy… just the pants, okay?”  
Jared and Novara obliged, slipping out of their bottoms. They preferred to do it themselves rather than have someone strip them. The lab coat offered a modicum of decency. They were made to sit in the chairs again. Tariq and Akira knelt in front of their subjects.  
Jared noticed that memories triggered some semblance of normalcy in Akira. So as her fingers tenderly fluttered over his flesh, he jerked his legs upwards onto his toes, to offer her access to the underside of his knee, reminding her of when lay eyes on him after he captured her.  
“More revenge, I guess?”  
He prompted her softly.  
Almost involuntarily, she tucked her thumb into the pocket of space he offered. Her eyes widened, flashes of being the victim, of his thumb finding that spot on her… A different time, a different place… A different chair. 

She seemed to be grappling with something, she whispered her complain,  
“I- But you hurt me… so much.”  
“To fix you… It was the only way… Trust me… Shira.”  
She shook her head vehemently and completed the task.  
Ezekiel was so busy managing the expectations of the crowd, he missed the exchange.  
Akira shuddered.  
Tariq had reluctantly prodded at Nova’s firm flesh and then largely mimicked gestures without making much contact. She felt relieved. He did too.  
The audience booed. 

“Sorry folks, there is no way I’m caressing my friend… Not in public anyways!” he joked and rounded up to Akira.  
“But I can teach him…”  
Ezekiel watched Jared the whole time, as Akira dutifully peeled of the leggings and sat down like a statue. She remained that way while Ezekiel manipulated her skin to no avail. She looked at him derisively, her eyebrows raised in an are-you-satisfied-now, expression.  
He huffed softly and got up.  
“Maybe I should’ve asked for Vivi’s assistance.”

Akira’s form crumpled, but the exposure and the mention of Vivi made her instantly reach for her leggings.  
“She did have you… dying small deaths when we hauled in Jared’s broken body to the hospital wing after all. Didn’t she?”  
Ezekiel spoke just for the four participants this time.  
Akira did not have to confirm or deny this.  
They all learned that silence could be acrimonious…  
Jared finally understood what Akira was talking about in her delirious state.  
He took a deep breath. Now was not the time he could afford to dwell on it. But his eyes searched for Vivianne in the audience. He did not find her. 

Eze took the mic and flatly declared  
“Kira is… quite the ice-queen.”  
Akira did not care; in fact, she was rather keen to wear such a reputation.  
Tariq and she exchanged a quick glance. Something was troubling them both.  
“Card five: Make them a piece of art. Can we just prettify the Red Knight and show Nova’s natural beauty? All her make-up is smudged anyways…”  
Tariq mechanically wiped Nova’s smeared make-up, while Akira applied lip-gloss and mascara onto Jared.  
It added some vague humour to the general buzz in the audience. Perhaps because every time Jared blinked, which was not too often, he looked like he was batting his eyelids. Some agents swooned in the audience and hooted. Jared and Akira rolled their eyes. 

Something was stirring… something was fading in the psyches of the inflictors. Their icy demeanour was melting. It was replaced by a searing confusion.  
Jared and Novara witnessed their mind-addled tormentors feebly coming to grips with reality and fighting it. They were grateful for the respite this card offered in terms of the pace of the game.

Ezekiel wiped the smeared make-up off Akira, after declaring his SuperNova to be the winner again. He made some stupid comment comparing their natural features.  
It was no secret that Nova was conventionally prettier—more symmetrical, paler, angular… the exotic amber eyes, leaner, daintier build and whatnot. Akira was not bothered by this in the least. Apart from being a little conscious about her height, she had no insecurities regarding her petite frame and pixie-like features. Despite being told otherwise in the past, Akira believed she was rather well put together. 

The auditorium was engaged again by the man with mic.  
“And to Card six, we have…”  
he winced dramatically before continuing,  
“break their arm.”  
Tariq and Akira did not wait to be prompted.  
They grabbed the wrists of the seated subjects, locked their elbows.  
“You’ve held my arm like this before…”  
Jared reminded.  
A moment flashed behind her eyes.  
She tasted blood in her mouth and lunged at him… striking quick and cheap to get him to the floor with his arm in her cruel grip. i  
Jared felt the hesitance in Akira’s grip and the flash of anger in Eze’s eyes when he noticed.  
“Do break it this time…”  
Jared taunted, for her sake. He already knew that Eze was picking on Akira and that did not bode well. 

All of them had learned this technique during the training phase, both at SpecSyn and at Q.B.  
With a swift careful blow to the arms that were not scarred with their names, bones were cracked. Elbows were spared.  
Two soft snaps overlapped, with a creaky crunch to follow.  
It was swift and synchronised.  
Jared groaned through grit teeth.  
Nova wailed and then continued to whimper, holding her broken hand limply in the other.  
Something else snapped within Akira.  
Suddenly, her eyes were bleary, and she felt a little dizzy.  
“What… The fuck?”  
She whispered and staggered, her arms caught the chair Jared was on to maintain balance.  
“What a humor…ous crack.”  
Ezekiel made a stupid joke, too loudly… To cover up for the hitch, that probably came off as a technical difficulty. He narrowed his eyes and tried to reorient the inflictors through with suggestive words. He carefully spoke away from the mic,  
“He hurt you, Nova hurt Tariq and now you are both getting a chance at your revenge…”  
“No… No…”  
Akira protested, weakly.  
_The mind-altering neuromodulatory shit, did not quite work, despite the delirium induced susceptibility._  
Ezekiel snatched Jared’s arm to confirm the damage with the MediScanner, grinning at the audience as he proudly showcased the images.  
He tenderly scanned Nova’s arm now.  
Both the fractures were a little more than hairlines, cracks across the bone. The visibility as enough to satisfy the audience, but not hype them up as much as Ezekiel would have wanted.

The arms could be fixed within a fraction of an hour. Eze did not see the point in investing the time or the resources to do so. Nova had been disobedient, and Jared deserved worse.  
One arm carved, the other one broken…. That was not near enough for Ezekiel.  
“I declare Tariq winner again, but since we still have more of the game to play, Akira will suffer her consequence at the end…”  
The blonde man left the mic on its stand and projected the scanned images. Through the grit teeth of the toothy smile that he had plastered, he warned the players coldly.  
“I’m going to announce a break and you all are going to find a way to not ruin my show, understood? Remember, I do have bullets in my gun.”  
The enlarged holographic x-rays held the attention of the audience long enough for the four players to be escorted backstage.  
They could still hear Ezekiel’s voice.  
“Half-time, folks. As a nugget, I’ll let you in on a little clue about how this came to be. It involved the incidental superimposition of two very different projects that our very participating BioHackers were working on… More details at the end of the show.”

The echoing nature of Eze’s amplified voice haunted Akira, but not more than the realisation his words brought.  
“Oh fuck! He got his hands on my theor- but how?”  
Jared had no clue that Akira had been working on something, it felt odd to not know such things about someone he was so attached to.  
She and Nova locked eyes. One of them must have let something slip. It did not matter who and it didn’t matter how… It happened. Akira assumed it was her fault somehow.  
“I’m so stupid… The worst is… It doesn’t even work… clearly.”  
She held out her hands as the failed experiment and laughed with a manic bitterness.  
And so, began her spiralling slide down into the dark void of her mind. 

Eze stormed backstage and toted his gun again. He’d caught her words on his way in.  
“You’re fucking right it doesn’t, I should not have expected it to, coming from a failure like you, Kira.”  
His drawl was venomous, but it inspired no fear in Akira, neither did the threat of the bullet.  
“Do it already… then…”  
Akira beckoned, glumly.  
Jared stood between Ezekiel and his chosen victim.  
“Hey, back off.”  
There was a sinister edge to his whisper, it sent chills down Tariq and Nova’s spine. Eze was immune to it, too high on his power trip.  
“Yeah? What’re you goin-”  
Akira had sunk too low into her void but muttered darkly,  
“I… don’t need you to stand up for me...”  
Her tone sounded caustic, she wrung her hands together. Jared looked at her aghast, but before things escalated one way or another, she went on,  
“Besides, what am I worth anyway? He is right.”

Jared’s resentment subsided instantly; it was replaced by exasperation.  
Ezekiel smirked, his tongue flicked across his teeth, and made an annoying suckling sound.  
Tariq still seemed very confused. His eyes narrowed somewhat viciously, he was staring at the floor and did not say anything.  
“Y-You… The show must go on right?”  
It was Nova who tried to diffuse the charged tension.  
“Yes. Fix yourselves.”  
Ezekiel spat and put away his gun.  
His reputation being at stake had left him unbalanced. He was now considering certain drastic measures to spruce up his show and to kill two birds with one… bullet.


	16. A bullet for them, a bullet for you.

A spot-boy let them know that the show would commence again in another five minutes.  
“I can do nothing right…” Akira rocked forward and back and muttered to herself.  
Nova frowned at her.  
  
“Aki! You’re kidding me, right? You worked on something, realised now is not the ideal time to pursue it and dropped it. Then were basically used as bait for Jared without your knowledge… He and you... happened. Then you were shot, a sniper pulled the bullet out of you in a goddamn b-”  
Akira interrupted her.  
“T’was all a big accident… all meaningless suffering.”  
“How can you _say_ that? There is no real meaning Aki. Pain is pain. How, does that change _anything?_ ”  
Nova sounded exasperated.  
Akira knew that Nova was someone you couldn’t argue with. Rather, Nova was someone you didn’t want to argue with. She could kill with kindness and resurrect with love.  
“What about the whipping you took for me?”  
Tariq chimed in.  
“It was all my mess to begin with, T… I- I just bit off more than I could chew.”  
Akira had made herself inconsolable, drifted into a realm where she was alone.  
  
Jared felt massively inadequate. He chose silence, like he had so many times before.  
Because a part of him wanted to shake her and scream.  
_‘I told you so! You_ did _bite off more than you can chew. Why? You could’ve just… kept your head down, we could’ve been happy…’_  
He didn’t say any of that because it wouldn’t help and because he empathised more than he could let her know with words. He knew the hollowness of feeling like a failure. After all, she had rescued him from it… And from near-death before that. She had persevered through his walls of detachment and finally made him feel something again. Perhaps he should have let her know what she meant to him and what she meant in general. He moved towards her, he had to try.  
  
“Places.”  
The spot-boy prompted.  
They were ushered to the wings again. They stood according to the order of their entry.  
Jared was to make his entry last.   
Ezekiel crept up behind the suited man.  
“I’m sure it is obvious by now that this is personal. You should not have put a bullet in Nikolai’s head. You two deserved each other. I swear to you, you are going to wish the air strikes had found their mark by the end of tonight, _Red._ ”  
Ezekiel shoved into Jared’s side as he walked past him and then the others, onto the stage.  
“How long are we going to dance to his tunes? This will never end.”  
Jared spoke under his breath. Nova shot him a pleading gaze.  
_We just need to… keep buying time.  
_She still wanted to believe this ended well, somehow.  
Akira continued to sink into thoughts. She did not say anything, she did not look up. This could end…  
  
“Welcome back for the second half of our wonderful game. Without further ado, I present to you the next card.”  
All four participants sat on the chairs set out for them. Shock implements had been fixed around their neck, wrists and ankles again, as an extra measure. The audience noticed, some preferred it, others realised something was amiss.  
Ezekiel carried on with spotless fluency.  
“Card seven _:_ Use them as an ashtray _._ Oh, this is a loaded one for our participants. Am I right?”  
He leered at them, one after another.  
Someone fetched a pack of cigarettes.  
  
“Well, the Red Knight does have a reputation for being a chimney. I suppose you’ll have to get puffin’ Jared. One for each pair… and then another for the _loser_.”  
His eyes already pinned Akira as he said the word. She noticed averted her gaze to the pack of smokes.  
She wedged a cigarette between Jared’s lips and lit it. She stared at the blistering tip.  
“The cards are really out to help you get some revenge, huh?”  
Jared tried to lighten the mood. The cigarette wiggled with his soft words. Empty eyes looked back at him.  
Cigarettes had left her burned too many times and scarred in ways she did not want to be reminded of.  
She plucked the cigarette away and passed it to Tariq, another cigarette replaced it and was lit.  
Jared puffed away dutifully, and it did nothing to calm him.  
  
Tariq dropped some ash on Nova, and she squealed pre-emptively. He then crushed it out against the arm of the chair. Ezekiel did not even bother to check what transpired between his SuperNova and Tariq. He already has Akira pinned as his victim, this round and all the rounds to follow.  
Ezekiel was almost mesmerized in anticipation as Akira lifted the cigarette away from Jared. She did not make eye contact with anyone as she tugged at his arm. Her hands shook, she didn’t linger too long and put it out under the scabs of her etched name.  
Jared bit his lip and tensed; his leg twitched as he swallowed the pain.  
“We all already know who the loser is… The loser of the night. Akira.”  
  
Ezekiel held out another cigarette. Akira’s movements were slower and worn as she reached for it.  
Jared snatched the damn thing from him and lit it himself.  
“Do you want to do the honours then, Red Knight? You _have_ done it before, am I right?”  
Jared licked his lips and looked at Akira, it was the first time she looked back up at him since they got onto stage. She nodded implicitly. She still preferred Jared over Ezekiel.  
She offered him her wrist and hid her face in her shoulder. The tip was swiftly crushed against it. A soft moan was muffled against the collar of the lab coat.  
Akira smiled, almost like she felt something. It vanished as soon as it had come.   
Jared’s heart sank.  
  
They were not giving Ezekiel the show he really wanted.  
Little did they know that that was a dangerous bargain.  
“Card 8: _Lick their neck and face._ ”  
Tariq and Nova looked at each other and shrugged. This was among the easier things they had done this evening. He was swift in flicking his tongue across her prominent cheekbone and in the dip above her collar bone.  
Jared did not look at Akira. She did not look at him either. But she pressed her lips against his jaw and then traced it with the tip of her tongue, which barely made it past the gates of her lips.  
He closed his eyes.  
She nuzzled into his neck. She sighed a disconsolate apology and prefaced a swift lick with another kiss.  
Something that resembled her usual self, surfaced.  
“Ice queen just for you, Eze.”  
She whispered shrewdly. And then the spark was gone again.   
Eze cocked his head and looked past her at Jared, his true fight was never with her, she was merely a tool. But he had plans for all her attempts to get under his skin… Plans that would shred Jared too.  
The crowd responded well to the display of conflicted intimacy.  
Ezekiel continued with a professional cheeriness.  
“Card 9: Splash or drip hot wax onto them. Let us dim the lights for this one.”  
As usual his words were followed with swift actions.  
Flickering flames danced into view.  
  
At this point, Tariq and Nova might as well as forfeit and they would still win every round. It felt unfair, but Tariq was not about to make Nova suffer unnecessarily. So, he dropped a single drop onto the palm of her hands. Even she barely hissed.  
“You know what you should do? You should seal your name and that cigarette burn you’ve made to decorate it with, with the wax, Kira…”  
He marketed his order as a suggestion.  
Akira wanted to retort and refuse. Jared could see the defiance loom in her eyes.  
_Just a few more cards and we will see where this goes after…_  
He did not see a happy ending, they would remain at Ezekiel’s mercy after the game too, or so it seemed. But Nova’s solution, to buy time, did seem the most optimal. How long could he keep this up without someone telling him off?  
  
Jared’s hand closed on Akira’s and he nodded.  
“It’s ok Shira, I can take it, we’ll get through this.”  
He echoed her words.  
She sniffled softly and stifled the urge to cry. It was not out of fear or pain. It was because she did not want to get through anything anymore. She felt a pang of guilt and general worthlessness that made her feel like she did not deserve him… Or anything really.  
He held out his arm boldly.  
Each drop that coated the wounded skin, coaxed something… a gasp… a wince, the clench of a fist, another involuntary shake of his ankles, the gentle shudder of his extended fingers…   
The audience commended his tolerance collectively. They clearly expected worse and were impressed.  
  
Ezekiel cleared his throat.  
“He took that well! And now it’s time to see if Kira fares well too, I know _just_ the spot.” He beckoned her closer.  
He pulled away her lab-coat and made her face away from the audience. He unzipped her bodice to reveal the back that was still raw with the recently healed, knitting scars from the whipping.  
Akira’s her head hung low. She was facing her friends, but staring at the floor instead.  
Jared reached out to her on an instinct he could not smother.  
Ezekiel noticed and mocked.  
“She’s been trying to be _you_ for so long, at least you were kind enough to let her get close to you… You’re good at that sort of thing, turning some stupid admiration into… _more_. Go on, go on! Do her a favour and hold her.”  
Ezekiel took every opportunity that he could to take verbal jabs at Jared.  
  
Jared didn’t care for his tone or his words, it did not matter what he thought or said. Jared just wanted to pull her out of her head. So, he stared Eze down, and moved to embrace his Shira.  
On some level, she knew Eze was right. She had fucked everything up by trying to chase some idea of glory and heroism. To follow in the footsteps of the one she loved. So, she pushed Jared away. She did not want the blonde playing Jared like this again, through her.  
  


“Oh-oh, looks like she doesn’t want you anymore…”  
Ezekiel’s tone sharpened. He really had an axe to grind.  
Thick droplets of wax splattered against her healing back. Her knees knocked together, but she did not let them buckle. She did not fall, and she did not make a sound. She let the ache fill the void lack of success had left.  
It hurt, but even that sensation felt welcome.  
He liberally coated her whole back and waited for it to harden. He ordered someone to fetch him a light flogger to dust the solidified candlewax off her.  
As he did, he picked up the next card.  
  
“Card 10: _Rest._ Rest? Ah! What a pity, things were just getting fun. While we all take a breather, in the spirit of the game, allow me to put some cards on the table about lovely Kira here…”  
He threw the card to the floor and methodically let the flogger peel the wax of Akira. She periodically folded and arched like a butterfly to expedite the annoying process.  
Once most of it was off, she twisted her arm to reach for the zipper of her bodice. Ezekiel rapped her across knuckles with the carved, wooden handle of the flogger, hard enough to make her hands shake as she quickly clenched it into a fist and let it recede. The other hand cradled its pair against her bosom.  
  
“If I have this right, I believe her claim to fame was rescuing Jared from The Supremacy agent cells… Back under their governance, that’s how she curried favours with SpecSyn.”  
He unhooked the zip of the bodice and pulled it off her entirely. Akira stood bare-backed with her arms across her front for some modesty, she still had her back to the audience.  
The moment Jared shifted in his chair; he was crippled with electricity. His eyes remained open as he suffered silently. They reddened with hate and exertion. His muscled spasmed under his suit.  
Ezekiel toyed with the dial for a few moments just to make a point before he continued his narration of Akira’s story.  
“They hired her, realised she was a pitiful excuse of a BioHacker and sent her on a virtually suicidal mission here, to us… Am I right Akira?”  
She nodded.  
  
“She didn’t do much better here, in fact, tonight, she and Tariq were meant to be representing her primitive, but potentially revolutionary neuromodulating techniques. The only reason it worked for as long as it did, was because the electrophysiological process was used in combination with the truly ground-breaking _advanced shealing serum_ that SuperNova had concocted. Luckily, at least we can pass on her theories to professionals… Right again?”  
She nodded, which wasn’t enough this time.  
“Say it, Kira. Let everybody know you failed.”  
He reached for the next card and made a mental note of it but did not announce the contents yet.  
“My work failed.”  
She spoke emptily. She had accepted the truth behind the syllables, they had lost the power to hurt her. He was not satisfied. It was not enough for him to establish that her _work_ failed.  
“Your work failed because _you_ are a…?”  
“Failure.”  
She chanted.  
The monosyllabic declaration mauled her friends. She did not know, because she didn’t look at them out of fear that they’d betray the disappointment she deserved.  
  
“Good girl, successful at _something._ ”  
Ezekiel continued to mock.  
Jared and Tariq were livid now and both were leashed by the electricity that coursed through them sporadically.  
For once, Nova was rendered truly speechless.  
“Card 11: _Feed them_. Tsk. Too easy.”  
He threw the card to the floor.  
“I bet you loved the game, didn’t you Kira? I believe you can be quite the sadist. And do love to watch people suffer am I right?”  
She did not answer this time.  
Ezekiel plucked out his gun and toyed with it.  
The audience gasped. Aki’s back was still to them she could not see the gun, but within a moment she felt the mouth of the weapon trace the length of her spine.  
She fought the urge to recoil and contort and clenched her eyes shut.  
Ezekiel kicked the back of her legs to force her to her knees. It worked.  
She did not resist this time as her legs snapped forward before hitting the stage with a dull thud.  
The audience was enraptured, and the host was savouring every moment.  
  
A steady stream of current now kept the other players rooted, paralyzing them in their seats. It amused Ezekiel that they cared enough to want intervene at all.  
“You know what’s truly sad. That despite knowing how pathetic you truly are, all three of these blithering idiots—all three of them so much better than you… would probably eat a bullet for _you_.”  
He lazily picked up the last card.  
  
“Card 12: Ha! _Make them scream_. That should be mighty easy.”  
He lifted the gun off the small of her back and put it against the back of her head. He winked at Jared and pulled the trigger.  
Akira closed her eyes. The crowd gasped. Jared, Tariq and Nova screamed in protest and horror alike, just as he had promised.  
Akira shook involuntarily at the click of the trigger.  
No bullet followed.  
“Oops, forgot the safety.”  
He clicked it and laughed, then raised his hand and shot a bullet into the high ceiling.  
Dust and the hot shell fell onto Akira’s shoulder, she gasped softly. Her breathing was erratic, her heart pounded in her chest so hard, it felt like it was looking for a way to escape the traitorous body that housed it. The one not interested in preserving life anymore.  
There was silence after the scare and the shot.  
  
“They’d do just about anything to save you right now, wouldn’t they? And I. just. can’t. see. why…”  
He scratched his head.  
On cue, Jared staggered towards Ezekiel fighting the low dose of electricity the kept him crippled. Eze watched curiously and did not stop him. Instead, he rolled the dial in his pocket to lower the voltage and offered the stumbling man some respite, so he could move with lesser struggle.  
Against every fibre of his pride, Jared rigidly fell to his knee, mostly because it felt stupid to walk anymore on current-induced-jelly-legs. And he assumed it would appease the blonde’s inflated ego.   
“Ezekiel, your fight is with me, please…”  
Jared’s voice was raspy and pitiful.  
Tears that had been clinging to Akira’s lashes stubbornly, fell at this beseeching. She looked over her shoulder.  
“Jared. No. I’m… I’m not worth it…”  
She protested through grit teeth.  
_Why let him win like this?! Why prove him right some more?  
  
_

“You should listen to her!”  
Ezekiel’s guffaw deepened before he went on,  
“Don’t you see, Red. I _am_ fighting with you.”  
He kicked the Red Knight across the face. As a younger man, he had been on the receiving end of such kicks when Nikolai made Jared and Ezekiel spar. Jared kicks had been feints, but they were humiliating nonetheless, and this felt cathartic.  
Jared let his head snap to the side and swivelled towards the ground, he caught himself with the arm that had her name on it, just in time…  
Eze followed with another kick to his shoulder and amped the electricity through the cuffs and collar again. Jared was left flattened with his face against the floor.  
Eze put his boot on his cheek, keeping Jared’s gaze fixed onto Akira’s kneeling form.  
  
She peeked over her shoulder and watched horrified.   
“Please… Please… Just kill me.”  
She whispered.  
Ezekiel turned, his attention divided between her and the audience.  
“What do you think I should have them do, Kira? What do you think they won’t do?”  
His implications were as horrifying as they were disgusting. By now, Akira was sure he knew no boundaries and was probably among people he didn’t need to censor himself around… And if he didn’t they would just be dismissed and this could continue forever.  
_If I can just… Get this over with, maybe he’ll lose his power over them… Maybe death will be shocking enough for someone to intervene…  
  
_“Please… Please… Just kill me.”  
She chanted now, softly and faithfully, till he interrupted her.  
“Louder, Kira. Let them all hear you. Tell me what you are, tell me what you deserve and what I should do.”  
She paused and stilled.  
She cleared her throat and took one last look at Jared.  
Then she closed her eyes and drew a long breath. If they were going to watch her die, she did not want them to see her go down in shambles. They deserved better than that.  
Jared’s protests and sacrificial offers were all lost between the buzz, the boot, and the floor.  
Nova’s nails had drawn blood from Tariq’s arm. She sat clutching him, wracked with the periodic shocks just like the two men.  
Akira sat up straighter, squaring her hanger-like shoulders. She let her hair down and looked straight ahead at the curtain behind her friends. Akira spoke evenly, like reciting a dialogue.  
“I’m a failure. I deserve to die. You should kill me.”  
The words had lost their meaning for her, as darkness… the kind that death brings, waited in the future.  
  
Ezekiel cocked the gun, flicked the safety and placed the gun against the back of her head again.   
He looked down at his feet and spoke for just Jared’s ears this time.  
“This is how you killed him, right? This is how you killed Nikolai?”  
_BANG._


End file.
